Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

Bacardi felt she was too old to look for new employment. And she wasn’t slim and curvy enough to go back out there to find herself a baller to spoil her, young or old. She felt washed up.

She took a drag from the Newport and continued to gaze at the gloomy and wet weather outside. She was dressed in an old nightgown that covered all of her flab. Butch was asleep on the bed. He was no use to her—no good dick, no damn income, and no quality conversation came from him. He was a wet, dumb log trying not to die from his drinking—a limp dick inside her bedroom. What a waste of a man.

Bacardi was broke, tired, and she was sexually frustrated. She always wanted a better life than this. She always wanted nice things, to take nice trips, and to have a rich man spoil her. Now in her early forties, she lived that life vicariously through Charlie, and now the dream had come to an end with God locked up.

What now? she asked herself.

Chapter Sixteen

Charlie stepped off the bus that took her to Rikers Island and followed behind the other ladies that were also there to see a loved one. It was a breezy October day with a gray, overcast sky. The gloomy weather matched her mood. This would be her second trip to the sprawling jail, and once again it was met with both anticipation to see God and a feeling of hopelessness that he was locked up. The good news was, he and Fingers were arrested on a gun charge—no murders, no robberies. The bad news was that his bail was set at fifty thousand dollars by the judge. Going through a bondsman for 10%, Charlie would have to cough up five thousand dollars she didn’t have.

Immediately, the corrections officers started shouting instructions at the visitors. Charlie followed behind the other long line of folks into the reception building, where she had to give her information and go through a metal detector.

It was a tedious and tiresome process and almost degrading—the questions, going through various metal detectors, the bus ride, and the waiting. But she arrived at the visiting room, sat at the small table, and tried to look her best for God in such a deplorable looking environment.

Rikers Island had a strict dress code—nothing too skimpy or short, no jewelry, no gang emblems or colors. Charlie sat looking cute in a pair of jeans, white sneakers, and a green tee. Her reddish-brown skin with freckles and hazel eyes caught the attention of the male guards and a few inmates. She was a pretty girl.

She sat and waited, and ten minutes later, a guard escorted God into the visiting area with a few other inmates. They all wore gray jumpsuits.

Seeing God, Charlie smiled. Even incarcerated, his presence was commanding, and he still looked like he was the man in charge of things. He coolly walked Charlie’s way and wrapped his arms around her and planted a loving kiss against her lips. He didn’t want to let her go, but the guards and signs made it clear that lingering displays of affection were not allowed during visits.

They took a seat opposite each other and held hands across the table. It was good to see him again, although he only had been locked up for a short period.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

Not one to beat around the bush, God then asked, “So, what’s goin’ on wit’ my bail?”

“I told you, God, I don’t have the money.”

“You can get the money, Charlie. I told you to sell those mink coats and your Rolex and get me up outta here.”

Charlie felt slighted by his words. “Why I gotta sell my shit?”

She kept on refusing God’s request. She liked her material things. They were all she had. And it was his mistake for being careless, not hers.

“Bitch, don’t ask me no stupid shit like that,” he replied. “Didn’t I bail you, ya fat-ass moms, and ya fuckin’ insane sister out?! How you gonna do me like this?”

“You have your own shit to sell, God. But you won’t tell me where it is. So, I’m supposed to sacrifice my shit? And now is not the time to be takin’ Claire’s coat. She’s fragile, but she’s not insane!”

“You love me, right?”

“You know I do.”

“So, do what’s right and get your man out of here.”

Charlie sighed and replied, “I’ll see what I can do. Your bail is high, though.”

“You’re my ride-or-die, Charlie. You always will be. You got this.”

Another deep sigh escaped Charlie’s mouth. She worried why her man couldn’t tell her where his stuff was. What was he hiding?

When God got arrested with Fingers and Kym, Kym left the police precinct with their belongings. She was keeping them in a safe place until God told her what to do with them. Kym also placed money on God’s books, and therefore, he was able to call Charlie. When Charlie asked him who the girl in the car was, God lied and told her she was Fingers’ bitch. She believed him.

Kym still didn’t know about Charlie, and Charlie still didn’t know about Kym. God was using them both. He liked the street, gangster side in Charlie—his ride-or-die—and he liked the educated and responsible legal assistant Kym. For God, it was the best of both worlds.