From the Streets to the Sheets Read online

  • • •

  “What the fuck is going on around here?” Monique caught up with Honey Dew in the dressing room a couple of days later. “Pluto didn’t bring his fat ass home last night. Some shit is up, girl. I can feel it.”

  “I’on’t know,” Honey Dew whispered. She pulled her shirt over her head and her butterscotch titties with thick chocolate nipples stood straight out from her body. She cupped them in her hands and thumbed her stiff buds.

  Monique eyed them hungrily, but she’d already fucked Honey Dew more than once. The girl was a squirter and had some real soft pussy, but right now Monique was much more interested in whatever news Honey Dew might be able to put her up on than she was on tasting her juice.

  “I heard they did Gino, girl. I heard Moonie telling Greco that they took him out by the airport and deaded his fuckin’ ass.”

  Monique nodded and smiled. Good. With Gino gone, that meant the path was all the way clear for her and Pluto to slide right into position. G had already fronted almost half the money for the state business licenses and shit, and him and Pluto was gonna ride down there together in about a week so he could pay off the cops and the people who signed off on liquor licenses. After that G said he’d drop a bucket load of bank on Monique so she could hire some girls to work the stage and the back rooms too.

  Monique couldn’t wait till they were heading south on the Jersey Turnpike. She’d been fucking Pluto for years, even though he smelled like a dead man and beat her ass and treated her like shit whenever he felt like it. But so what. The niggah was a loyal soldier. He was way up there on G’s team, and rolling with funky power was better than rolling with a fragrant wankster. She’d stick close to Pluto and put up with his shit-streaked drawers and nasty breath until she could get with a strong niggah like G. Maybe she’d find herself one down in the B-More. She was damn sure gonna be looking around.

  But shit veered off course for her the next evening when Pluto called her cell phone and told her the G-Spot was closed and to stay home for the night. Monique was suspicious. She knew that amateur-ass Juicy had fallen off on her shit a few days ago, and was too worn out to work the rooms anymore. Niggahs had been tossing their room chips back at Greco and refusing to fuck her ’cause her stank pussy was bleeding and she was talking out of her head.

  So vacation time had come to a close for Monique and the other hoes, and niggahs was so full of cum that she’d been forced to take on a double load the night before. Ballers had been horny and wanted to fuck, so Monique had performed all of her little tricks to get them to nut as fast as possible, and Pluto’s call had caught her soaking her sore pussy in a hot tub of water and going over her pole routines in her mind.

  “Yeah,” Plutotoldher. “Stay the fuck home. We closed to the public for the night. Ballers only. So keep your ass at home.”

  Monique was too suspicious! What kinda private party could G be having that didn’t involve his hoes? She didn’t even like the way that shit sounded, so she had to let a niggah know!

  “What up like that? What kinda private fuckin’ party? Why ain’t nobody invite me?”

  “Jawn,” Pluto growled in her ear. “I’ll snap your mother-fuckin’ neck! You better remember ya goddamn role. Don’t be asking me no fuckin’ questions. Especially on the air. Just do like I said, and stay your ass the fuck home.” Click.

  Monique had looked at the phone for a second, then threw that shit up against the wall. That stank niggah better not be trying to roll nowhere without her! Just the thought that Pluto might try to shake her off and leave her in Harlem made her face sweat as she sat in all that hot water.

  She thought about that shit for a second, and decided it was best to regroup.

  Jumping out of the bubbly water, Monique let the stopper out of the tub and dried off real quick. Then she sprayed cleanser all around the bathroom, especially the nasty-ass toilet that Pluto couldn’t seem to aim his dick into, and cleaned it until the room was sparkling and smelled like roses and vanilla. She had already cursed the landlord out and told him they were leaving and not to look for another fuckin’penny in rent, so she hated to waste her energy cleaning an apartment she was about to vacate, but she had to. She had stepped her ass outta pocket with herman, and there had been a killer edge in Pluto’s voice when he set her straight that told her there was more to come. She knew that niggah had a temper, and she knew he had a memory too. If she wasn’t careful he could either ride downI-95andleave her ass stuck in Harlem, or walk through the door swinging his fists and punching her lights out. Unless she got his mood right.

  Monique spent the next few hours preparing for her man to get home. She was gonna butter his ass up like a piece of toast. No, like some corn on the cob. He’d walk in the door and find a clean house, a hot meal, and best of all, a docile bitch who knew her proper place and how to keep her fuckin’ mouth closed.

  But when Pluto shot through the door around three o’clock in the morning his mood was too crazy. Monique had planned on holding her nose and sucking the membranes out of his fat, nasty dick, but he wasn’t having it.

  She’d been lounging on the sofa in a lavender silk robe, makeup in place and smelling real nice, but when she looked up and saw the expression on her man’s face she lost all of her cool and jumped to her feet because what she was seeing was truly impossible.

  “What’s the matter, baby? Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Pluto’s eyes were red and swollen like he had just finished crying or something. He must have wiped some serious snot from his nose because crusty green streaks had dried up all across his cheeks.

  Monique couldn’t imagine what could have her man looking so bent, but whatever it was, she was gonna make it go away. “Don’t worry about nothing, baby,” she cooed as Pluto pushed past her. She followed him into their bedroom. “Monique got you, Big Papa. And I’m here to make you feel good.”

  Pluto stopped in the bedroom doorway and cursed, then rushed over to the dresser and began throwing shit out the top drawer.

  Monique beamed as she looked around the spotless room that just hours ago had looked like a hurricane hit it. She had folded every stitch in all of his dresser drawers too, so there wasn’t shit he could complain about. “I did a good job, baby. Didn’t I?”

  For the first time since he entered the apartment, Pluto actually looked at her.

  “Gimme my bitch.”

  “Huh?”

  “My burner. My piece. It was in the fuckin’ drawer, Monique.”

  “Oh,” she said, rushing over to the closet. She flung the doors open and felt around in her shoe bag and took the gat out of a pair of bloodred pumps.

  “Here you go, Papa. I just put it up for you, that’s all.”

  Pluto snatched the burner from her and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Monique hadn’t liked the deadly look in his eyes, and she stood outside the door listening as he plopped down on the toilet and took a piss. She stood there running her mouth a mile a minute and praying he wouldn’t fuck her up after he shook his dick off and came back out.

  “You ready to take over Baltimore, Big Papa?” she yeasted him way up through the door. “Your shit is gonna be large! Prolly larger than what G has going right here in Harlem! I mean, his game is tight and all, I’ll give him that. But he ain’t you. He can’t handle no business like you can, and he definitely ain’t got a pocket-bitch like me clocking for him, ya know? Yeah. Let G have Harlem. This shit is played anyway. B-More is where it’s happening, baby. It’s a whole new grind poppin’ off down there, and we about to drop a big bomb and make all kinds of noise.”

  Monique heard some funny sounds coming from the other side of the door, and if she didn’t know no better she woulda thought Pluto’s fat ass was farting and crying. She dismissed that notion because her niggah mighta been hefty and stank, but he was one of G’s fiercest soldiers and his reputation spoke loud for him and proved that he was harder than a brick.

  “I fried you some shicken,”
she sang brightly, damn near stepping on Pluto’s heels as he stomped out the bathroom without flushing the toilet or even washing his nasty hands. “Some shicken thighs and shicken wings. I got some shicken necks in there too.”

  Monique didn’t mean to, but she peeked in the bathroom behind him and had to force herself not to choke—both from the smell he left lingering behind, and the two fat turds that floated around in the nasty water where there wasn’t a single sheet of toilet tissue to be seen.

  Nasty motherfucker, she thought. Learn to wipe your fuckin’ ass!

  But all she said as she followed him in the kitchen was, “You know you like my fried shicken, Daddy-o! Can’t nobody fry no shicken the way your Mo-Mo do. First thing I’ma do when we get down to Baltimore and buy us a phat crib is fry my Big Papa a whole pan of shicken!”

  Pluto was tearing up the broom closet that she had just straightened up. He came out with a half-empty box of garbage bags, some rubber gloves, and a large jug of Clorox. Monique ignored the look in his eyes, and watched curiously as he threw everything in a plastic shopping bag and headed toward the front door.

  “You leaving out again?” She followed behind him whining. “C’mon, Big Papa. You just got here. I got a whole pot of lima beans boiling on the stove too. Fatback all up in the pot just the way you like it. Come on and sit down and eat with me, Daddy.”

  She grabbed his thick arm and pulled, then shrank back in surprise as he whirled around and shot her a look of intense hatred.

  “Dumb trick!” Pluto grabbed Monique by the back of her head, winding his fat fingers in her hair weave and snatching her back toward the kitchen by her sewed-in tracks.

  “Wait!” she cried weakly, wobbling across the floor in her purple stilettos. “I fried you some shicken, baby! I got you some beans—”

  “You got you a big raggedy fuckin’ mouth is what you got! Don’t know when to keep that shit closed neither!” He dragged her into the kitchen by the hair, slinging her painfully from the wall, then into the refrigerator, then slamming her into the table and knocking over salt and pepper shakers and two chairs.

  “I’ma fry something in here, bitch. Fry your shit up real nice and crunchy for you.”

  Monique felt his hands grip her neck and squeeze until her breath caught in her chest and her eyes bulged outta her head.

  “Yeah.” He sweated above her. Monique yelped when he pushed the whole pot of beans off the electric burner and forced her face down toward the hot spirals that were glowing orange-red.

  “Help!” Monique tried to scream, praying her nosey-ass super was listening through the pipes and would at least bang on the door to distract Pluto and save her ass. She tried to fight him, but Pluto used his body weight to pin her against the stove as he inched her face closer and closer toward the hot coils.

  She was screaming and crying and trying to push herself away from the stove. Her thumb skidded across the burner and she shrieked as heat shot up her arm. Pluto had both thick hands on her now. He squeezed her neck with one, and used the other to push her head down so low that Monique felt searing heat on her cheek. Her gold hoop earring heated up immediately, sending fire shooting through her earlobe. A thick lock of her silky Chinese weave hit the burner and sizzled like melting plastic, and pee ran down her legs as her eyebrows and eyelashes started to singe.

  “Please . . . please . . . Pluto, baby. Please . . .”

  Her face . . . Oh, her face! Her right ear was burning like shit and her cheek was being scorched, and Monique was powerless to get away as tears fell from her eyes and hit the hot coils, sending little puffs of steam back up toward her. She closed her eyes and gave up, unable to bear it as her face loomed closer and closer to the orange burner. And just when she was braced to feel her flesh sizzle and her skin stick to the glowing coils, that niggah let her up and flung her across the room. She crashed into the microwave cart, then yelped as she twisted her ankle, fell onto one knee, and then crumpled to the floor.

  “Ain’t gone be no fuckin’ Baltimore, you stupid-ass bitch,” Pluto growled as he picked up his plastic shopping bag and headed toward the door again.

  “Not for me or for you.”

  • • •

  My fuckin’ face!

  Monique snatched off her hot earring and jumped to her feet as soon as the door slammed. She kicked off her shoes and hobbled over to the freezer and took out a frozen can of grape juice. She held it to the right side of her face, then ran in the bathroom to check out the damage Pluto had done.

  Aside from being really red and tender, her cheek didn’t have any burn marks or blisters yet, but the ends of her weave had fried and so had some of the fine hair around the edges of her face. Her ear was straight burnt, and it hurt like hell as she splashed cold water all over her face, then caked a mixture of melted butter and Vaseline on her earlobe, and then spread it around on her cheek and eyebrow.

  Monique didn’t know what the fuck was going on that had set Pluto off bad enough for him to burn her, but she’d heard one thing loud and clear: no B-More. Whatever it was that not only had Pluto crying but had changed all their plans was too big for her to imagine. But she knew one thing. There was no way in hell she was just gonna sit up in that apartment and wait for him to come back and deep-fry the other half of her face. She was gonna get out there on the streets of Harlem and find her some fuckin’ answers.

  She changed into a pair of pants and a thick sweater, then grabbed her coat and her keys, and with Vaseline still caked up on half of her face, she jetted from the apartment and jumped in her whip.

  Monique drove in the snow straight past the G-Spot and parked two blocks over. She’d gotten a pretty good look at the windows on her way past, and even though Pluto claimed they were having a private baller party, the Spot looked dark and deserted and there wasn’t a single hustler or pimped-out ride to be seen sitting outside.

  Monique got out of her car and trudged through the snow back toward the Spot, hugging the buildings and staying in the shadows. She turned left at the corner, then ran across the street and slipped down the alley behind the Spot where she saw G’s Benz parked and waiting.

  It was cold as shit outside, and steam was coming from the tailpipe as the car idled. She walked in the tire tracks, then ducked behind a small garbage Dumpster when she saw Pluto, Moonie, Cooter, and Ace come out the side door, carrying something big that was wrapped up in plastic.

  “What the fuck!” Monique muttered under her breath as she watched them dump whatever it was in the back of the Benz, then fling a small plastic garbage bag in there along with it. Moonie slammed the trunk and all four of them went back inside the Spot, leaving the car running. Monique waited a few minutes then crept out of the shadows of the Dumpster, and keeping her feet in the tire tracks, inched her way over to the car. Whatever the fuck was in all that plastic had looked soft and heavy, and curiosity gnawed at her as she imagined what it could be.

  She was halfway between the Dumpster and the car when the door popped open again. Monique scuttled back to the Dumpster saying fuck the tire tracks, and dove behind it just as the four gangstas appeared once again.

  This time they were carrying something else. Something wrapped in a red sheet from one of the fuck rooms, and when Moonie yanked the trunk open and then slid the bundle halfway in, Monique gasped out loud at what she saw under the trunk lights.

  A hand and foot were sticking out. The hand hung from an opening in the sheet and something glinted in the darkness that Monique had seen a million times before. Gold and onyx. A special-order twenty-thousand-dollar ring. G used to twirl that shit constantly, like a bad habit. Especially when he was mad. Monique noticed that the foot hanging out was wearing a fly leather shoe. Italian leather, probably. The kind of shoes that paid niggahs like G had imported from overseas.

  Monique sat down on her ass in all that ice and snow. Her heart wanted to stop beating and she could barely believe what the fuck her eyes were telling her.

  Her dreams were
dead.

  Pluto was right. Wasn’t gonna be no fuckin’ Baltimore for neither one of them. She was ass-fucked. Just out there. She’d already told her super and her landlord that they could go eat each other. She’d run up all kinds of bills in Pluto’s name in stores all over Harlem that she hadn’t planned to pay, and she’d double-crossed folks and burned bridges like a motherfucker too. Skipping out of Harlem hadn’t been just a wish, it was a fuckin’ requirement, and now somehow all of that shit had been canceled. Monique didn’t know what the fuck had gone down, but if G was bodied then the future she had planned for herself was bodied too.

  Monique hid, pressing herself deep into the shadows of the Dumpster as the Benz backed outta the alley. Moonie, Pluto, and Ace were in the whip and Cooter had gone back inside the Spot. She was dying to know who or what had been in that first package they put in the trunk. G was in that second package. She knew that shit for a fact ’cause she’d seen it with her own eyes. And she knew something else too. Whatever the fuck had gone down that ended up ripping all of her dreams apart, she was willing to bet her sexiest fuckin’ thong that it had something to do with that raggedy bitch who was chained to a bed downstairs in the Dungeon. That bitch Juicy.

  • • •

  Monique sat in her car watching the front door and the alley of the G-Spot. She had moved to a better parking space after the Benz rolled out, and she kept her engine running, even though her lights and heat were off.

  It was cold as shit outside and in the car, but it didn’t bother her at all. In fact, her right ear was now cooling to a dull throb, and the icy air felt damn good on her burnt skin. Every now and then she peered into the overhead mirror and stared at the welp-like blisters that were beginning to rise on her cheek and shuddered inside, even though her face was now the last damn thing she was worried about.

  Monique sat there running details through her mind, wondering who had merked G and why the fuck Cooter was still inside the Spot instead of rolling out with Pluto and them.