The Grind Don't Stop (4 page)

Sparkle twisted his mouth to the side, sighed and eyed the crew's solemn faces before following Rainbow down the hall. He returned in a few minutes and frowned before directing his attention to Stacy. “Yo nephew, why don't you ride with the girls? Me and Rainbow have got to go and check on some things.”

Stacy jacked his pants up and braced his shoulders. “Y'all sure y'all don't want me to ride with ya?” There was a sadistic smile on his face as he took his nine from behind his back and cocked it.

Sparkle smiled at his gangster display. “Man, put that away; you scaring the girls. Just gon' with them like I asked you to, man. I
need you to get to know Violet and Mercedes a little better anyhow.”

Sparkle started waving them out of the door. Mercedes reluctantly followed them. He couldn't worry about her feelings now. He looked at Princess, who had picked up her coat to leave with the rest of them. “Naw, black baby, you gonna ride with us.” He took her jacket.

He noticed Mercedes frowning over her shoulder as she started out the door. He fought back the urge to call her back. He leaned against the door as they pulled away. He was closing the door when the phone started ringing again. Lady stuck her head around the corner again with the same worried look on her face. Sparkle took the call this time before he went into the bedroom to tell Rainbow what the deal was. There were loud yells and screams heard through the door before they came storming out. Their faces were stern with anger as they left the house.

Lady rushed to the door to watch their departure before she went back into the kitchen to wrap up the food for another time. Then she headed to the bedroom to place a call to an old friend.

The driver smiled as he leaned his shoulder against the door of the late-model sedan parked across the street from the three-story house. Their prey had pulled out in their cars a couple of minutes apart and headed in opposite directions. They were certain the passengers hadn't paid them any attention, since they were parked among countless cars in the Turner Field lot.

The driver adjusted the sleeves of the baggy Falcons sweatshirt and glared angrily at the passenger. “Homie, I'm beginning to think that you may just be the wrong soldier for this job. After all, you've
known these niggas a long time. Hell, all your life, as a matter of fact.”

The passenger drew deeply on the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and blew a steady stream of smoke out the window into the cool air before responding nervously. “I told you that I got this. Things have started to get troublesome for them already. I just got to make sure that I do everything right.”

“Playa, playa, I ain't feeling that shit and I ain't got a lot of patience. You do realize that, don'tcha?” the driver spat in a low growl.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you need this done, but like you said yourself, I've known them for a long time. This means I know that they ain't nowhere near no dummies and I don't...”

The driver cut through his whining with a loud slap on the dashboard. “Nigga, stop playing games with me. Either you do like I told you or I do your ass.” In a lightning-quick motion, he reached across the seat to put an extremely powerful grip on the passenger's shoulder blade. “Is my English plain enough for ya?”

As spittle sprayed the passenger's face to go along with the grip's paralyzing pain, a mixture of fear and hatred coursed through his brain and he gave the only answer possible. “Yeeeeaaaah.”

Beverly was putting her groceries in the trunk in the Kroger parking lot when her attention was drawn to the staticky police band. She automatically wondered if her boys, Rainbow and Sparkle, had answered the call of the wild with all the shootings along I-20. She knew there was no way that they were going to let that drive-by shooting pass without responding. She started reminiscing.

Deep in her heart she knew they'd pooled their mediocre bankrolls to keep her in nice clothes and to get her in and through college. There was no way that her sweet old nana's social security check could have come up with all that money.

Beverly thought back to the days when she and her girlfriends would sit around admiring them at the dope hangouts. They called it their days of being so-called gentlemen of leisure. Pimping macks was how they jokingly labeled it. They became star protégés of the legendary queen of the con, Loretta. practicing the many scams she'd taught them in her basement on Auburn Avenue. It continued all the way to her tuition fees at Georgia State, where she began her quest for a law degree.

Neither ever volunteered to offer an explanation of the source of the money. She'd always had her doubts about all the different lies they'd tell. Whenever she would question them, as a group or one-on-one, they would never confirm or deny it; they'd stare at her blankly until she stomped away pouting. Sparkle was the only one who seemed like he wanted to tell her but even he wouldn't. The bottom line from way back was that she wanted to grow and make a difference in her hood, in her city and in their lives.

How could she ever deny any of them? From kindergarten to elementary, to high school to college, she always felt that she was nowhere near the brainiest hen in the flock. So, if not for their constant nagging and encouragements that she could really make something out of her life, she wouldn't be where she was today.

Talking about skeletons in the closet, she certainly had her share. She had to keep those skeletons hidden, well hidden. Actually, her career depended on it. Still on her oath to keep the streets clean, she certainly couldn't allow the violence to escalate out of control.

As she turned the key in the ignition, she looked in her eyes in the mirror wondering how far her loyalty could extend; and for
that matter which way that loyalty would lean. As she pulled into the Candler Road traffic, she pondered her dilemma.

Big Al was in a foul mood when he pulled up behind Don's car in his driveway. The heavy-set big man of fifty odd years was con- templating if he should run his usual poker game tonight. The past few days had begun to really stress him out; from dealing with all the different personalities that frequented his game room to test their luck at the card table to dealing with that crooked cop JR in their hijacking furniture trucks to supply the condos recently built to that punk Black Don. He'd helped run his dope investment and the many dope dealers that worked his product. He checked out the streets of his upper-class neighborhood before squinting into the rearview mirror. Was he really a celebrity look- alike as most folk had been telling him?
Maybe, except more handsome.
He smiled.

Lately, everything seemed to be grinding on his nerves. From the sound and feel of the gravel sprinkled along the entryway, to the raindrops that barely sprinkled his neck when he got out of the car, made his fist ball up in disgust. He even feinted at a harmless squirrel when it sprinted across his path on the way to scampering up a tree. The fresh smell of the opening skies mixed with the faint smell of the peat moss surrounding the two orange trees in his yard made his teeth grit. He fought the urge to stomp the rose bed along the front of the house because he felt that the aroma was too strong.
Damn, could he ever use a blunt to calm himself
down
. He could almost taste the reefer and cocaine mixture rolling off of his tongue to invigorate his throat, nasal passage and brain.

He reached the door and started patting himself down before
throwing his hands up in frustration, realizing he hadn't taken the keys out of the ignition.
I've got to stop letting myself get so tensed
up like this. The deal's gonna come through. I'm just letting the pressure
get next to me, that's all. Just being too damn paranoid.
He grimaced and stomped back to the car.

“Come on, Al, get it together, man,” he muttered under his breath as he reached inside the car to retrieve the keys.

As he was putting the key in the lock, he began shuddering. He turned around and scanned the neighborhood. He didn't see anything and took a deep breath, then shook off the eerie feeling and pushed the door open. He took one step inside and nearly jumped out of his skin when the shrill sound of the alarm shook him from head to toe.

“What the fuck?” Don screamed and jumped off of the couch with his fist balled at his side.

Black Don, the self-proclaimed ruler of downtown drug trafficking and strip club owner, hated being uncomfortable in any situation. Accompanying his aunt, Rose, the former Miami whore, to this money paradise of Atlanta all those years ago had certainly put him at the top of his hustling game. There was plenty of drugs, hoes and money to keep him satisfied, but it wasn't good enough for him. He wanted much much more and was determined as ever to get it. He wasn't comfortable the way Al had just barged in without a warning whatsoever and it showed.

Al could have cared less how this fool felt as he frowned and reached for the alarm beside the light switch. He punched in his code to silence it. He bristled up and turned around to stare angrily at Don. He massaged the bridge of his nose and stepped toward him like a stalking panther.

What the fuck is up with this nigga balling up on me in my own godayum house?
Don thought.

Don felt Al's anger with each advancing step. There was no way he could've known about the fuck session he'd just had with Mona, Al's sexy-as-hell, freak of a woman. It had even surprised him how easy she'd been to conquer. And that pussy and head was bumping, grade-fucking triple A. She'd proven to be too hard to resist, not that he'd tried to. Actually, he was plotting how to hit it as often as possible or simply straight up snatch her from under Al's rule, toss her in the club and make a mint off of her sexy ass when Al entered abruptly.

Don took a couple of steps back and prepared for whatever. He felt his hands trembling, so he slid them in his pockets to keep Al from seeing the effect his attitude was having on him.

Al sensed his nervousness and stopped at the edge of the couch, He reached across Don's body to massage his neck and shoulder before he growled, “Where's mine, man?” When he took too long to respond, Al stepped around the couch and sneered even more menacingly. “Nigga, I asked you where my shit at?”

The tension deflated from Don's shoulders.
Wow, I'm not busted
for my out of control dick play, after all
. He sighed heavily. “My nigga, you shonuff had me spooked for a second there. It's out there in the car. I was waiting for you to get here before I got it.”

Al lowered his guard slightly. It didn't stop Don from watching him closely though. He patted him on the shoulder as he brushed by and whispered, “Damn, partner, what's got you so pumped up?” He didn't bother waiting for an answer and continued out of the door to get the package.

Al didn't budge an inch, letting him know that he wasn't for any nonsense. Al started nibbling on his bottom lip trying to bring his anger under control. He sighed and walked over to the bar and mixed a vodka and orange juice. He took a few sips, welcoming the sting as the alcohol scorched down his throat.

The sexy, sassy Mona suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.
She secured the last button on a pink silk blouse with one hand as she made long brush strokes through her damp hair with the other. She was curious about her sister, Miriam, since she hadn't heard anything from her in the past couple of days. She'd really been worrying about that girl since she'd gotten hooked up with that so-called pimping nigga ‘B.' She hoped that Al wouldn't recognize the afterglow of that hell of a fucking that nigga Don had put on her with his monster dick.
Damn, that motherfucka felt good.
Hell, it was the best dick she'd ever had, period. But right now she had to deal with this old-ass nigga Al and smiled demurely down at him. The tantalizing swell of her hips in a pair of skintight jeans caused his anger to subside momentarily with visions of sliding them off. She caught that look in his eyes immediately
This old muthafucka thinks it's all about him
—
good.

Al felt his nape stiffen when Don came back through the door with an Addidas saddlebag draped over his shoulder.
Why I can't shake this bad feeling about this nigga
? Al continued feeling strange but he couldn't grasp what the bad vibes meant. He'd have to figure them out later on. He really needed to concentrate on getting this business with these high rollers taken care of.

He waited until Don had slung the bag off his shoulder and leaned it against his leg with the strap dangling across his Timberland boots. He flexed his shoulders with attitude and walked over toward him.

He felt Don looking past him but didn't comment on it and nodded for him to follow him to the game room. Don waited until he started up the steps before he reached down to get the bag. He raised his head and made eye contact with Mona. The lust in her eyes caused him to sigh. Luckily Al's back was to them because even Stevie Wonder would've seen the sexual tension between them.

Mona couldn't and didn't want to control the moisture
dampening her thong panties. She gasped silently when her eyes lowered to his monster dick as it expanded inch by pussy-throbbing inch down his pants leg. Her pussy started convulsing while her eyes budged every time it throbbed. She pressed her stomach to handle the urges that were nearly uncontrollable.

She was thankful when Al began to turn around as he reached for the doorknob. She immediately smiled at him. “Honey, you want me to hook you up some greens and mashed potatoes to go with this here chicken?”

Al's antennae bristled along his spine, but he stifled the urge to grit on them before he turned around. “Whatever, baby. Ah, what the hell, go ahead and burn a few of those catfish, too.”

Don squinted at her and then gritted at Al's departing back as he disappeared down the stairs. He looked back up at her, licked his lips and winked as he silently mouthed, “I'm gonna tear that fine ass up later.” He followed Al into the game room.