Passion for the Heist, page 4
“Keep your money. This one is on me,” Passion told him before snatching the soap dish from the sink and cracking him upside the head with it.
“You dirty bitch!” the man snapped, clutching the spot on his skull where Passion had clocked him. The blow would likely leave a knot, but it hadn’t broken the skin. He reached for her, only to calm the girl, and things went from bad to worse.
“Don’t touch me!” Passion’s voice struck the pervert right before her fist did. He stumbled, more from the shock of her stealing on him than the blow actually doing any damage. She attacked him like a wild woman, kicking, punching, and scratching. Her naked breasts swinging and her snatch exposed, but she was beyond the point of embarrassment. She was an animal backed into a corner.
The fight spilled out of the bathroom and into the hallway, nearly knocking the door off its hinges along the way. The man managed to get a hold of Passion’s wrists and prevent her from punching him anymore, but little did he know his problems were just starting. The commotion had woken everyone in the house and probably a few of the neighbors as well. The man forced Passion to the ground and straddled her, pinning her under his weight so that she couldn’t move. She continued to fight, even managing to bite his thigh. This is when things got ugly, and he slapped her across the face. He raised his hand for a second slap and it was about then that he felt something cold and sharp at his throat.
“You got one more swing, and that’ll be the end of your days in this world,” a female voice whispered in his ear. “Try me, nigga. I dare you!”
The man was strong, but his flesh was tender and the knife was sharp. He released Passion’s wrists and held his hands above his head like in an old Western when the sheriff got the drop on the bad guys. The woman, still with the knife to his throat, helped him off Passion and to his feet. When he was standing and Passion was safe and out of the way, the woman kicked him in the ass and sent him to the ground, chin first. The man rolled over, sat on his ass, and glared up at the woman who had kicked him.
“Bo, you must’ve lost your last mind treating me like you don’t know who I am and what I do!” he snapped. Ted was his name. He was a petty criminal who owned a used car lot which provided all the young dope boys with cars and no-questions-asked paperwork. Ted also laundered money through this dealership for some of the players in the game. This put his services in high demand, so it gave Ted an inflated sense of self-importance
“Yeah, Ted. I’m hip to both, which is why you just a little shook up instead of cut up,” the woman called Bo replied. She was an older broad with skin the color of curdled cream and hips so wide she had to turn sideways to enter some rooms. Bo was the den mother and triple OG of the house. Her word was the closest thing to law that they had under that roof. Next to the man they all called Uncle, she had the most authority in the house. “What you doing in my house?”
“I invited him.” Another voice joined the conversation. At the sound of it, the temperature in the room felt like it had dropped ten degrees.
Standing in the doorway was the man of the house and resident living nightmare to all who resided under that roof. Joseph Green, called Uncle Joe by the girls in the house and pretty much everyone else, was a large man, standing at about six-three and tipping the scale somewhere north of two hundred and fifty pounds. He had coal black eyes and a wide nose that was slightly crooked along the bridge from being broken several times. His lips were thick, with the bottom one having a pinkish strip cutting across it as if it had been scorched. Bo called it the “drunk lip,” but never to his face. Uncle Joe was wearing a white shirt under his three-quarter-length leather jacket. The top four buttons of the shirt were undone so you could see the three gold chains that were almost lost in the foliage of his hairy chest.
He wasn’t alone. The newest girl in the house, Zeta, was shoved halfway up Uncle Joe’s ass. That was her usual station, underfoot. Zeta went out of her way to please Uncle Joe whenever she could. Of all the girls in the house, she was the least liked. Not just because she was a notorious kiss-ass, but because she was also drop-dead gorgeous. She was a five-nine, cream-colored bombshell who resembled a younger version of Bo, only she was taller and didn’t have the hips. Zeta may not have carried an ass as heavy as Bo’s, but what she lacked in her rear end she made up for with her 38D cup, and a head game that was said to be out of this world.
From Zeta’s confident pose while hovering in Uncle Joe’s shadow, you could tell that she thought she was killing it. She was wearing the gift Uncle Joe had tossed her to go along with her promotion: a blue faux fur with the collar and cuffs dyed snow white. It was something that Joe had claimed from the spoils of a low-stakes robbery as payment for a debt owed by the robber. The coat wasn’t worth much, but Zeta treated it like it was a shroud of freshly spun gold. Underneath the cheap jacket she wore a white latex dress that was so short you could almost see the lips of her vagina peeking out.
The cream-colored dream looked over the squabbling trio in the hallway with judgmental eyes. Eyes that said she wouldn’t squirt a drop of piss on either one of them if they were on fire. Zeta was not only the newest girl, but also Uncle Joe’s current favorite. Knowing that she had Joe’s nose open made Zeta feel like her shit didn’t stink, and she was always peacocking around the apartment while looking down her nose at the rest of the girls who lived there. She’d even challenged Bo’s authority on more than a few occasions, and Bo had been with Uncle Joe the longest. Everyone knew that Bo was Joe’s right hand, but instead of Zeta playing her position as his left, she wanted to be his only. She made no secret of this either. The only reason Bo hadn’t yet tried to kill her in her sleep was for fear of how Uncle Joe might take it. It wouldn’t have been the first time Bo had tightened one of Uncle Joe’s random thots for jumping out of pocket. There were rarely any repercussions because of Bo’s status, but Zeta was a different case. Bo had been running with Joe long enough to know when his nose was open off a new piece of pussy. It fucked with his vision and sometimes his judgment, so Bo had to handle Zeta differently.
Joe stood there, bloodshot eyes sweeping over everyone in the room as if he was waiting for someone to explain what he had just walked in on. None of them seemed to be able to find their voices. Even Ted, who had been slick at the mouth toward Passion and Bo, couldn’t do much more than avert his eyes. Uncle Joe was a man who hated to have to ask a question twice, and most times the second ask was followed by a violent act. Those who knew him well recognized the look on Uncle Joe’s face. He was “picking a Herb.” That meant that he was searching for one person to turn his displeasure upon. When no one spoke up, Uncle Joe put himself in the mind to choose violence. He’d just decided whose face he needed to slap for making him repeat himself. Thankfully, they were all spared by a simple truth.
“Your drunk-ass friend almost got the last shave of his life.” Bo’s admission stayed the potential execution. She was probably the only person in the room who knew just when the fuse would reach the powder keg.
“I told him he could come up to use the bathroom,” Uncle Joe informed her. “I was looking for a parking spot, but apparently Ted has the bladder of damn child and kept threatening to piss himself in the back seat of my new Benz, which his ass had overcharged me for when he sold it to me. I gave him the keys and told him it was cool to come up ahead of us to handle his business.”
“Well maybe you should’ve called ahead and told me? Joe, you know how you get with men being in here when you ain’t around. You don’t play it. That’s law. So, imagine my surprise when I get up to put your coffee on, like I’d know you’d want when you came in, and I find this fool out here putting his hands where they didn’t belong.” Bo nodded in Passion’s direction.
When Uncle Joe looked to Passion, it was as if he was only noticing her for the first time. She was standing just behind Bo, who was between her and Ted. The towel she had retrieved from the bathroom floor was barely covering her breasts. When Uncle Joe saw the hateful look she was shooting at Ted, a roughly drawn, stick-figure animation of what may have just transpired played in his head. Uncle Joe stalked across the room like a jungle cat, eyes locked on Passion. From the tension in his movements you’d have thought he was about to slap her down, but instead he took her delicate chin in one of his large hands. For a few beats he said nothing, only studied Passion as if she was an exquisite piece of art that had just been put on display. When he was done with his examination he put a question in the air: “You touch what’s mine, Ted?”
“This ain’t none of what it looks like, Joe.” Ted shuffled uncomfortably in place.
“That ain’t what I asked. You know how I feel about having to ask the same shit twice, so do the right thing with your next statement,” Uncle Joe warned.
“Joe,” Ted began calmly, “it was a misunderstanding. I walked in the bathroom without knocking first and just scared the girl a bit.” He downplayed it.
“Is that what happened, Passion? You misunderstand Mr. Ted’s intentions?” Uncle Joe asked her.
Passion thought on the question before answering. She knew with just a shake of her head she could have the perverted old man pushed from this world. The terrified look in his eyes said that he knew this as well. The power she held over Ted at that moment made her lower regions hum, almost as intensely as when she had been playing with herself in the bathroom. Imagining Ted’s blood on the walls made her almost giddy, and for an instant she toyed with the idea of letting Uncle Joe finish. She wondered if watching one man take the life of another over her could make her cum as hard as she had when she was in the shower? Then she caught herself. That was the darkness speaking, not her. Passion nodded her head in agreement with Ted’s story, and stayed his execution.
Uncle Joe let his eyes linger on Passion for a bit longer, as if he didn’t fully buy her story, but wasn’t going to press the issue. “That’s a good thing.” He let his finger slide softly down Passion’s cheek before turning his attention to Ted. “We been friends for a long time, but I’m awfully protective over my niece. I’d hate to have a miscommunication ruin our friendship.”
“You ain’t gotta worry about that, Joe. I’d never sample a meal you didn’t invite me to,” Ted told him.
“That’s one meal you’ll never sit down at the table to taste, so I guess we ain’t gonna have no issues,” Uncle Joe said. He looked at Passion, who was still standing there with nothing but a towel covering herself. “Go put some fucking clothes in before you find yourself the motive behind me doing something stupid.”
* * *
As Passion was entering the bedroom, Birdie was coming out. She had a nervous look in her eyes and a box cutter cuffed in her hand. Passion knew the look and what Birdie had intended to do, but she stopped her by grabbing her about the arm and pulling her into the room behind her and slamming the door.
“You okay? That nigga do something to you?” Birdie fired off questions.
“I’m fine. Grab your stuff so we can get to school on time,” Passion answered, and began quickly dressing.
“I heard you yelling and when I looked out the door I saw you wrestling with that man. I was about to get it shaking.” Birdie brandished the box cutter as if Passion hadn’t seen it already. She was a ball of nervous energy.
Passion took Birdie by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. When she spoke, her tone was the most serious that Birdie had ever heard it. “The day any one of these no-account men that keep company with Uncle Joe give me anything that I didn’t ask for, is the day I’m going to become property of the state for the rest of my life.”
Birdie nodded that she understood just what Passion was insinuating. “I wish I was strong like you.”
“You are, Birdie. Even if you don’t know it yet.” Passion hugged the younger girl. “If don’t nobody in this place have my back, I know you do,” she cut her eyes at Claire, who was lying across her daybed, scrolling through her phone. She was pretending to be oblivious as to what had been happening on the other side of their bedroom door. Claire had just pulled a sucker move and she knew it. Passion always rose to the defense of the girls in the house. She looked at them as family, even Zeta. The fact that Claire had been willing to leave her for dead stung. It was a slight she wouldn’t soon forget.
Passion finished dressing before grabbing her knapsack and tossing Birdie’s to her. She steered the young girl toward the bathroom door so they could head to school, but before leaving Passion had some parting words for the coward Claire. “The same hand you call yourself biting to be spiteful, might be the same hand you need to pull yourself out of the deep end. When and if that time comes, you better pray to God that I ain’t the one who has to keep you from drowning.”
* * *
Passion reemerged from the bedroom and Uncle Joe and Ted were sitting at the kitchen table, passing a joint between them and sipping from plastic cups. Zeta had come out of her fur jacket and was standing in the kitchen washing the dishes that Claire was supposed to do the night before. Bo was on the couch counting and separating bills of various denominations. Zeta might’ve been Uncle Joe’s new flavor of the month, but Bo was the only one he trusted to count his money.
“Y’all headed out for school without eating no breakfast?” Bo paused her counting to address the girls. “I made some grits and eggs. Get you some before you leave.”
“No time. We don’t want to be late.” Passion spoke for both of them. She cut her eyes at Ted, who was at the table with Uncle Joe, eyeballing her and Birdie.
“You know it’s hard to concentrate on school when your ribs are touching,” Uncle Joe spoke up. “Bo, break Passion off fifty out of that scratch you counting up. I can’t have her going to school hungry and not being able to focus.”
“It’s okay, Uncle Joe. I get paid tomorrow,” Passion told him. She didn’t like taking money from Uncle Joe, because she knew that it usually came with a catch. She had seen him rope countless girls in that way.
“Nonsense,” Uncle Joe waved her off. “I know that diner you insist on slaving at after school don’t hardly pay shit. You take this money and get something to eat. You’re going to be this family’s young scholar, so all you should be worrying about is your grades and not where your next meal is coming from.”
“Shit, Joe. I been keeping time with yours all night getting that bankroll together, and you ain’t offered me nothing more than a drink and some chicken wings,” Zeta whined.
“If your shit-for-brains ass had stayed in school, instead of trying to get out onto the fast track, you might be the one getting lunch money instead of whore money, yet here we are.” Uncle Joe chuckled, as did Ted. Even Bo laughed at that one.
“Thanks, Uncle Joe,” Passion said in a tone sweeter than she’d have normally taken. This was to irritate Zeta. From the hard look the girl was shooting her, it was working.
“No thanks needed for as long as you keep me happy, Passion. Be a good girl, and listen to your uncle. That’s all I ask,” Uncle Joe said, giving Passion a look, which made some in the room uncomfortable.
“Say, Joe … I hate to break up your little thang, or whatever, but I came here with a purpose. My pocket’s feeling a little heavy and could stand to lose some weight.” Ted found the courage to swing the dialogue back to why he had come here in the first place. He was trying to get his dick wet.
“Square biz.” Uncle Joe got back into business mode. “You know my rates and my rules.”
Before Ted could enter into negotiations with Joe, Zeta’s thirsty ass abandoned her dishes and sashayed into the living room. She perched herself on the edge of the dining room table, leg slightly spread so that her thigh was exposed. “Honey, you know I’m the only one in this crummy place who speaks your language. This is where you need to be spending your coins tonight.”
The move Zeta had attempted to pull was some real cutthroat shit. Everybody caught it, but none really absorbed it except for Uncle Joe. She had jumped off the porch too early and too eager and he couldn’t stand a thirsty bitch. His fist balled, and he was about to push himself to his feet when once again Bo interjected.
“Hot-in-the-ass young bitch! You know that ain’t how we do things. Joe puts the plays and the players in motion, while we stay ready in case he decides to call one of our numbers!” Bo scolded her. From the way Zeta rolled her eyes at Bo, it was clear that she felt like she was being played, but Bo was actually trying to save her from getting her lip split. Uncle Joe hated to be challenged or back-talked to, especially in front of company. Zeta mumbled something under her breath and fell back, but only slightly.
“No offense, Z, but you ain’t what I got a taste for this evening. I find myself in the mood for a meal that’s a bit more tender.” He looked at Birdie. She was kind of on the homely side, but he would make it work. Ted had a thing for girls who were a little less developed.
Birdie felt like every eye in the room had turned to her. That was probably because they had. All of the girls who lived in the house, with the exception of Passion, had to put in work at some point. For the most part, Birdie always managed to slip through the cracks. She’d done things that she wasn’t proud of a time or three, but the majority of the men who came through to solicit the service of Uncle Joe’s girls rarely gave her a second look. She didn’t have much to offer in the way of a body, and she wasn’t the most attractive thing, so more often than not she was dismissed as the funny-looking girl that nobody wanted to pay for.
“Nah, you don’t want none of that.” Bo came to the table. “She ain’t but a child … mostly skin and bones. Why don’t you let me go see if Claire is up? She’ll get you right.” Bo made to walk toward the bedroom, but was stopped when Uncle Joe grabbed her about the wrist. He didn’t have to say a word because the cold look he was giving her said it all. “Joe, let one of the other girls handle it. Let her be,” she pleaded.
“Ain’t like she’s no virgin. She been fucking off with that boy Junior from the next building for the last few months,” Zeta interjected. She was bitter about being shooed away in favor of one of the other girls and wanted to stir the pot of trouble that was cooking.
