Dirty Work: Part 1

“I know you

do. How much the bitch charge by the hour?”

“Your mama never charges me. She gets down on her knees for free.”

Papa John’s easygoing attitude quickly transitioned into anger. He frowned at his friend. “Nigga, don’t ever talk about Mama!” He was serious.

“What? I hit a sore spot?”

“Just don’t talk about her.”

“A’ight, nigga. My bad,” Devon apologized feebly.

Papa John put the blunt to his lips and inhaled. He continued to frown. “Where is this nigga Kip?”

***

Kip stepped out of the lobby looking like a superstar. He was dressed in beige cargo shorts and a white V-neck T-shirt, highlighting his athletic body and showing off his long white gold chain and diamond encrusted TEC-9 pendant, along with his white-and-blue Jordans fresh out of the box. His waves were spinning in the sunlight as he trotted toward his homeboys in the Expedition. He was the prince of the projects—well known and well liked by many, but not by all. He was an Adonis and a bad boy mixed into one.

Kip moved with authority and pride in the Harlem projects. He could see Devon and Papa John in the truck smoking weed. He frowned at their stupidity. Today was a special day, or it was going to be a special night—and his crew was on board wholeheartedly. They were about their money, and if tonight’s score went down as planned, then they would come off like kings swimming in the money pit.

Kip’s chain swung as he walked—he had a tiger’s stride in the concrete jungle. As he approached the truck, he was greeted by two thots with long weaves, wearing tight jeans, tight shirts that accentuated their balloon tits, and bright smiles aimed his way.

“Hey, Kip,” the girls greeted simultaneously.

“Hey,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Kip, you comin’ to the party tonight?” Judy asked.

“What party?”

“We can make it a party, Kip,” Cindy chimed in with an inviting smile. “But we gonna do our thang at Cream tonight, and we want you there.”

Kip smiled, knowing the type of parties the girls would throw. It was known in the hood that Judy and Cindy were both strippers and thots of the year—easy pussy for the right price, sometimes maybe no price. They were into drug dealers and bad boys and could suck a dick so good, they could deflate a rock with their porn-style talents.

Cindy was up close and personal on Kip, patting at his chest, admiring his style, and talking into his ear. It was obvious that she wanted him. Judy too. But Cindy was into him more, though they’d never fucked.

Cindy licked her lips and asked him again, “So, you comin’ tonight?”

“I’m busy tonight,” Kip announced.

“Aaaah, too bad, we could have had some fun. You know . . . we still can.” Cindy bit her bottom lip, toying with her long hair and eyeing his crotch.

Kip chuckled.

Making her way toward Kip and the dynamic whores of Harlem was Eshon. She marched toward Kip with a frown, seeing Judy and Cindy talking to her ex-boyfriend. Even though they weren’t together at the moment, she wasn’t about to let Kip fuck either one of the girls. Dressed in a short skirt that showed off her toned thighs and her long, defined legs and a Swarovski crystal top that glimmered like diamonds on her chest, she strutted their way, her high heels thumping against the pavement. Eshon was a truly beautiful woman. Twenty years old with rich, brown skin, a straight weave, and round chestnut-colored eyes, her body was thick in all the right places. Along with her looks, she had a voice like Jennifer Hudson’s, singing wherever she went.

“Um, excuse me,” Eshon exclaimed to Cindy and Judy. “Do y’all bitches have someplace to be, besides up in my man’s face?”

The two thots looked at Eshon with a matching attitude.

Cindy said, “I thought y’all weren’t together anymore.”

“Bitch, you thought wrong. Y’all two bitches need to walk off now before I snatch y’all weaves and leave both y’all bitches fuckin’ baldheaded.”

Cindy sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, but she didn’t want any part of Eshon, who was both a beauty and a beast. Eshon was hood-certified and had a reputation for roughly snatching out hair weaves and leaving bitches bloody and dazed. She ran with Brandy and Jessica, and they were down for whatever. The ghetto had started to call the girls the “E and J Brandy bitches.” They worked hustlers like they were magic tricks, wore the best clothes, and dealt only with prize niggas. They got respect in Harlem.

Cindy and Judy got the message. Both girls pivoted and walked away.