Читать книгу The Streets Keep Calling - Chunichi - Страница 5

“Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last,” I shouted at the top of my lungs. I walked out the gates of the federal penitentiary after serving five long years for drug charges.

From the first day I’d begun serving my time I’d been waiting for the day I would be released. I walked out the gates with the same thug stroll I’d had walking into the courtroom, and, ultimately, into the brick walls of the federal penitentiary. I walked proud with my head high and a mean grit. No one would have ever known that I ain’t have shit, not even a hundred dollars to my name. A nigga would think I had the same half a million dollars cash and even more in assets that I’d originally had when I first got locked up. One thing about me though, I am always one of two things: either filthy rich or dead broke.

“Goddamn!” I said, realizing there was no one outside waiting to pick me up.

I scanned the parking lot again, looking to my left, then looking to my right. Still I ain’t see no one. Other than a couple of cars parked in the visitor parking area, there wasn’t a single nigga there but me. Even though I knew not to expect any of my boys to be there waiting to pick me up, it still hurt like a bitch to come out to nothing. At that point I ain’t have no one. The so-called boys who didn’t snitch on me or steal from me forgot about me after the third year of my bid. We all know how the saying goes: “out of sight, out of mind.” In my case, it’s been proven.

Before I got locked up, I had a whole crew of niggas by my side and another list of niggas who wished they could be by my side. But when shit got hot, niggas started snitching to save their own asses. The niggas who ain’t have shit until I took them under my wing were the same bitch-ass niggas who turned on me. As soon as they felt a little bit of pressure, they were quick to drop names and information. Then there were those who owed me money before I got locked up. These niggas saw that as a free ticket. I had cats making promises to pay my lawyer, give money to my moms, and look out for my wife and kids with the money they owed. Needless to say, my lawyer, mother, and wife and kids never saw a single dollar of that money.

As far as my wife, Maria, and kids, Jaden and Kaylyn, go, well, deep inside I knew they wouldn’t be waiting outside the gates for me either. Even though I hoped and prayed I would walk out those gates and be greeted by them running into my arms, I knew I was wishing on a star. Maria had turned her back on me a long time ago. Despite that I had left everything I owned to her.

At the time I got locked up, we were the picture-perfect happy family living in a $300,000 house that was paid for. My wife had her own personal car, we had a family truck, and I had over $500,000 stashed up in cash. When I went in to do my time, I made sure everything was taken care of for her. I had my attorney sign over all my paperwork so she could have access to and be in control of all my assets, and I gave her all my drug money down to the last dollar. It never crossed my mind that she would be the type of woman to turn her back on me, her husband, of all people. I figured with the house, cars, and money, she’d be straight and wait for me until I got out. Even that wasn’t enough to keep her.

I will never forget the pain I felt when I called my house number collect, and the operator told me the charges were denied. I must have tried calling at least two times a day for, like, two weeks straight just to make sure I had the right number. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why my wife would not take my call. Then one day I called and the operator said that the number was disconnected. When I heard that ma’fucking disconnected recording come on, I was pissed. Then I felt betrayed, but beyond all that, I was hurt that my wife would do something like that to me. After all the shit I had done to make sure she and the kids were taken care of, she would turn her back on me like that? But then I convinced myself that she had a perfectly good explanation for changing the number. It dawned on me that she might have gotten wind that the line was tapped, and she didn’t want to talk to me on it. I figured instead of getting pissed off, I would just wait for a letter from her with the new number and an explanation; but that letter never came. It didn’t even take her one year to change her number, stop visiting, and stop sending letters.

I can’t lie; I didn’t have an easy bid. I knew things weren’t gonna be easy from the first day I walked through the prison gates. On the streets I had a crew, a gun, and a whole lot of hood respect. I’d spent years proving I was gangster, but once I was behind those prison walls, I was a nobody with an assigned number. After all the sacrifice and time it took me to get to the top of the street game, I walked into that place and had to work my way from the bottom up and gain my respect all over again. I got in countless fights, losing more than I won. Hell, I was stabbed the first week, and put in the hole a few weeks after that. I lost my good time for getting caught with a cell phone, and even had a couple incidents that I’ve constantly tried to erase from my memory. Even through all that, nothing hurt me as bad as being away from my kids. No lie, not being able to see or talk to my kids was the hardest part of my entire bid.

Realizing there wasn’t a person in sight to pick me up, I finally said, “fuck it,” and started to walk. I had already made my mind up while I was in prison: I was gonna come out a new person. No more of the bullshit that got me locked up. I wanted one thing and one thing only, and that was to get my wife and kids back. I didn’t give a fuck what it would take, I was gonna get them back and never leave them again. I had plans to work a nine-to-five, see my parole officer as instructed, get my rights back, get some credit, and live the simple life.

I hadn’t taken a good three steps when a familiar car rolled up. I couldn’t do anything but shake my head and smile, as Moms pulled up in my 2002 Lexus GS 300.

“What the fuck?” I had to laugh. This shit I was looking at was crazy!

As Moms rolled up, all I could see was her blond wig, long acrylic nails, and cigarette smoke escaping from the driver’s side window. I looked at my car as she got closer. There was a dent in the side, a number of scratches and dings, and, worst of all, Moms was rolling on three custom rims and one factory rim: straight hood!

“There’s my baby boy.” Moms flicked her cigarette butt out the window and hopped out of the car. She ran and jumped her teeny five-foot-two petite frame into my arms. I stood over six feet tall, towering over her. I lifted her off her feet, hugging her tight. “I missed you so much,” she said with tears of joy in her eyes as she kissed me on the cheek. It took me back years. I felt like I was five years old again.

“Come on, Ma. Ain’t no need for crying. I’m home now.” I dried the tears from my mom’s face and we headed to the car. When I got in the passenger’s side, I couldn’t believe the inside of the car was worse than the outstide. My leather was scratched and ripped, the steering wheel stitching was holding on for dear life, and my GPS screen was cracked.

“Ma, what happened to my car? It looks like Hurricane Katrina ripped through it! You couldn’t take better care of it?” I knew Ma was never one to care much about cars but poor “Lexy,” as I used to call her, looked so bad, not even a crack-head would consider breaking into her.

“Breeze, I know I didn’t just take an unpaid day off of work to come and pick your behind up for you to question me about no damn car, boy! You can walk home if you don’t like what you see!” she said, smirking, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice but to shut up and take it.

“Whatever, Ma! Take me to see my kids,” I commanded.

“Lord, Breeze, I don’t know why you don’t just leave that girl alone. She took all your money and turned her back on you while you were in jail. Now she out there running around with some old rich man they call Mr. Biggs. That girl has always been about money. Boy, you ain’t realized that yet?” my mom said, full of attitude.

Moms ain’t never liked Maria. She felt Maria always thought she was better than our family. Maria grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth. She went to the best schools, had the best clothes, and rubbed shoulders with people in high places. She had a master’s degree in psychology but never worked a day in her life. Her mother was a Spanish woman who worked as a school superintendent. Her father was a white man who owned a construction company that was contracted with the government to build government buildings.

Now you compare that to the life I and my family knew. Moms was a single mother from the day I was born. I ain’t never knew my daddy, and I ain’t sure if he ever knew about me either. According to my grandmother, my moms was crazy in love with Daddy from the first day they met. They spent every minute they could together until she got pregnant. My grandmother said she never asked what happened between them, but all she knew was that my moms got pregnant and he was gone. My grandmother told me my moms fell into a deep depression after that. She did the best she could to raise me, while Moms spent countless nights drinking and hanging out at the clubs. As much as she tried to keep up with me, I was never home. I grew up in the projects, and was practically raised by the streets. School was never my thing, so I dropped out as soon as I was old enough, and started my hustle on the streets. Before I knew it, I was hood rich. That’s right, I had riches, just as much as Maria’s family, but I got my riches solely from selling drugs. As Moms said, Maria was about the dollars. If not for those riches, I would have never pulled a girl like Maria, or had her hand in marriage.

“I just wanna see my kids, Ma,” I said, even though deep inside I wanted to see Maria just as bad.

“Well, you gonna have to find that girl first. She sold the house.”

“She did what?” I couldn’t believe what my mom was saying to me.

“You heard me.” Ma pulled out a Newport and lit it. “That greedy, money-hungry, mixed-breed bitch sold the damn house, Breeze. She left me and your grandma cramped up in that old house in the hood. That mixed breed sold that big-ass house you left her! Why you so worried about her anyway? You need to be worried about how you gonna live cause we both know that drug shit didn’t work out too good for you the last time. While you thinking about that, think about where you gonna live, ’cause we both know Momma’s house is too small for all of us,” my moms ranted.

“What? When? Why you ain’t tell me?” I asked, only caring about the house and totally ignoring my moms, other statements.

“Breeze, did you hear anything I just said to you about how and where you gonna live?”

“Yeah, but that’s not important to me right now. Why didn’t you tell me Maria sold the house?” I redirected my moms back to the house situation.

“I didn’t want you to worry while you were locked up. You had enough things on your mind.” Moms took a long pull off her cigarette, then blew the smoke out the window.

I couldn’t believe Maria would stoop that low. I bought that house because she wanted it so bad. Everything in there she handpicked: furniture, appliances, carpet, all the way down to the fucking light fixtures. Then as soon as a nigga got locked up, she sold the shit! The more I thought about that shit, the angrier I got. I spent the rest of the ride deep in thought.

“We’re home,” my mom said, breaking me out of my trance.

I shook my head as we pulled up to my grandmother’s house. I was back to the same place I’d started from. The same damn ghetto I grew up in, and the same old-ass house with broken shutters and chipped paint. It was like I was sixteen years old all over again. I glanced around my hood, and all that shit was still the same too: same niggas on the block and same hood rats chasing behind them trying to trick for a few dollars. Only difference with them was that they looked like life had kicked their asses and they was tired as hell. Niggas had scars and faded tattoos, while the hood rats had nasty stretch marks and fucked-up weaves and wigs. That’s when I realized a nigga really ain’t have shit left: money was gone, friends gone, wife gone, kids gone, house gone, cars gone.

“Hey, Breeze!” I heard a chick shout out as I got out of the car and headed up to my grandma’s house.

I looked to my right to see a small-framed chick with a phat ass. Goddamn! I thought as my dick began to rise. I couldn’t put a name to the face and the bitch wasn’t even all that cute, but, I gotta say, after five years in the pen, that bitch was lookin’ like Halle Berry and Salma Hayek rolled into one.

“What up, yo?” I said as I gave shorty a nod as soon as my moms was inside the house.

“You don’t even know who I am. Do you?” she asked as she got a little closer.

“Nah, baby girl. You look familiar, but I can’t call it.” I was straight up with the chick.

“See how niggas do? Fuck and buck. You took my damn virginity in your grandmamma basement, nigga!” she snapped while playfully punching my arm.

“Oh, shit! Trixy?” I said, remembering that day like it was yesterday.

“Goddamn right. What up, fool?” She gave me a big hug.

“Ain’t shit. Just happy to be home,” I said sincerely.

“Oh, yeah? This your first stop?”

“Yep.”

“What? Where your niggas at? Your wife? All your bitches? Before you got locked up you had a whole entourage. Where all them people at now? They suppose to be throwing you a welcome home party, greeting you with money, clothes, your favorite food and pussy all night.” Trixy spoke like the true hood rat she was.

“Yeah, but you know how it go: money gone, niggas gone. Ain’t nothing, though. A nigga a’ight,” I lied. Deep inside I did want all that, and it was fucked up it didn’t turn out that way, but I wasn’t gonna let that petty shit break me.

“Well, welcome home, baby,” Trixy said while hugging me tight.

Just the feeling of her titties against my chest was enough to make a nigga wanna bust, but I nonchalantly hugged her back and said, “A’ight, li’l momma, I’ma catch you later on.”

No sooner than she’d turned around to walk away did the sight of her phat ass cause all the blood in my body to rush to my head, if you know what I mean. Just looking at this bitch’s ass damn near made me dizzy. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close again, then whispered in her ear while I pulled her in for another hug. “Why don’t you let me tap that for old time’s sake? That would be a hell of a welcome home gift.”

“Psssh! Nigga, please! First of all, that shit you just said is corny. Second, you ain’t hitting shit because you ain’t got shit. I ain’t the same little naive girl I used to be when you popped my cherry. Shit done changed. I grew up, you sucka-ass nigga,” Trixy snapped.

I didn’t even respond. I just looked at this bitch like she was crazy.

“Yeah, that’s right, nigga, you gotta get your weight up before you can even think about hitting this!” she said in response to my confused look.

“Oh, so it’s like that?” I said, trying to register what the fuck just happened.

“Damn right it’s like that,” Trixy said as she walked away.

I was in silence as I walked through the gates of my grandma’s yard. I had to wonder how a nothing-ass bitch like Trixy could diss me. That was my first realization that being at the bottom and staying straight wasn’t gonna be easy.

“Now, there’s my boy,” my grandma shouted, causing me to divert my mind from Trixy.

I looked toward the house to see Grandma smiling. She rushed from the porch and hugged me tight. It was so good to see her. Throughout my bid, she and Moms were the only ones sending me holiday cards and sparing whatever they had to make sure a nigga had money on the books. That’s how you know who your real peoples are.

“Grandma, it’s been a long time,” I replied.

“You got that right. I don’t ever want to see you behind bars again. You hear me?” My grandma repeated the same phrase she had said to me so many times while I was locked up.

“I hear you now, and heard you every time you came to visit me,” I assured her.

Being locked in a cage for five years, I couldn’t do nothing but think about how my life had turned out. At least I could say that one good thing came out of me going to prison: a nigga got saved. I had this prison mate who would drill me every day about the Lord. That nigga talked about religion so much we started calling him Moses. Man, it was Moses who brought me through some of my roughest moments during my bid. It came to a point where I couldn’t keep denying that nigga when he would tell me to come to the prison church with him. It took a little while, and a lot of rejections from me, but once he finally got me to start going, I really got into it. The more I learned about Jesus and the Bible, I began to realize that Jesus had a soldier’s heart. He was real gangster. What other nigga you know would walk up in the gambling spot, flipping over tables and demanding respect? Only a true gangster would have the balls to do something like that.

Once I was baptized, Moses made me a necklace with a cross as a constant reminder of my newfound love for Christ. I hadn’t taken it off since. Matter of fact, the night before I was released I couldn’t sleep, so I said a little prayer. I made a personal vow to God that if He would just help me live right and get my family back, then I would stay away from the game and never ever return to prison again.

As I sat and chatted with my grandma, the house phone rang.

“Baby, it’s for you.” Ma pointed to me with the phone.

“Who is it?” I inquired, surprised. Hell, I hadn’t even been home a whole hour. I wondered who would know that I had hit the bricks already.

“That mixed-breed bitch.” My heart started pounding as I registered what my moms was saying. I didn’t know whether to start cursing Maria’s ass out for hanging me out to dry while I was locked up and keeping me away from my kids, or to let her know how much I loved and missed her. Truth was, I was mad at her for a couple of years after she cut off all communication with me, but as time passed, I really missed my wife and kids. When it came down to it, I loved the shit outta that bitch. Even with the news about her selling my house, I was still willing to get past all of it just to be with my family again.

“Talk nice to her so she will let you see the kids. It would be nice to see my grandbabies. Maria stopped coming around years ago,” moms whispered as she handed me the phone.

“Hello,” I greeted her.

“Oh, so it is true. The almighty Breeze has been released from prison.”

“You got a motherfucking nerve to be—” I began to shout before being cut off.

“Now, listen up, my soon-to-be ex-husband, I didn’t call to get a sermon from you about how you feel. I called to let you know how things are going to be. I want to make a proposal to you,” Maria offered.

“Yeah, I’m listening.” I responded in a low tone because I didn’t want her to hang up on me.

“These days, I know you’re short on cash, so I’m willing to give you two thousand dollars to sign over your parental rights. My soon-to-be husband and I would like him to have custody of the kids. You and I both know who’s been taking care of them all these years,” she said.

My blood was boiling as I listened to her speak. “If you think I’m going to give up my rights—” I screamed before being cut off again.

“You’re yelling. That’s not something I’m willing to tolerate. Think about it and get back to me.”

“Can I talk to my kids?” I asked calmly.

“No,” Maria responded, and hung the phone up in my ear.

“No, this motherfucking bitch didn’t just hang up the fucking phone on me!” I yelled. I checked the caller ID, but Maria had blocked it. I threw the cordless phone across the room. Lucky for Maria, she wasn’t in front of me saying that shit. I would have grabbed her by the neck and squeezed every bit of life from her. I wanted to kick the wall in. One thing about Maria, she always knew how to get under my skin.

“Breeze, calm down, baby. You gon’ make that little girl send you back to prison. Now I know you have plans to hit the streets celebrating with your friends or something. Why don’t you do that? Have yourself a little fun, baby!” Grandma said, trying to lighten up my mood.

“Yeah, you’re right, Grandma. I do have plans,” I lied, then I directed my attention to my mother. “Ma, can I hold something until later?”

“Until later? Where you gonna get it from to get it to me later? All I have to give you is twenty, because money is tight around here and we need every dollar. Besides, if you had left some of your money with me instead of that money-hungry bitch, you wouldn’t have this problem.” My moms always seemed to find a way to tie Maria into every conversation.

“Chill, Ma, why you always gotta start talking a whole bunch of mess?” I questioned as I reached for the money. I felt like a thirteen-year-old begging his moms for allowance. I couldn’t believe this was what my life had come down to. “Ladies, I will be back in a couple of hours.” I kissed them both on the cheek, then I walked out of the house feeling like a bum-ass nigga.

My first thought was to go get some trees, but I knew I’d have to see my parole officer first thing the next morning. I had to settle for liquor instead. With that decided, I headed for the liquor store. While walking I was deep in thought. The conversation I’d just had with Maria kept playing in my head. I can’t believe this bitch tried to get me to sell my kids for two grand. The thought of that shit pissed me off all over again.

“Breeze!” I heard somebody calling out my name. I was about to turn to see who it was, but then I kept walking when I realized this was the same fucking voice that had dissed me earlier.

“Nigga, I know you hear me calling you!” the voice shouted even louder.

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Calm down, hothead! I just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier,” Trixy stated.

“Apologize for what? You say what you mean and you mean what you say, right?” I said, not giving much credit to her statement.

“Nah, I ain’t mean to do you like that. It’s just that niggas that ain’t about nothing be coming at me all day saying dumb shit, so snapping off comes second nature to me. You feel me?” she said while she played with her hands and avoided making eye contact with me.

“A’ight shorty, everything good. I’m going down the block.” I attempted to end the conversation.

“Damn, you just got home. You trying to stand on the corner with your niggas already?”

“What? Nah, I ain’t on that shit right now. I’m just trying to clear my head right now. I’m headed to the liquor store.”

“For real? Can you bring me back something?” Trixy asked.

“And me too,” a little voice chimed in.

I looked to my right to see a little boy running up to Trixy. “Who’s that, Momma?” he asked while pointing at me, then continued, “Is this my daddy or something?” He looked like a little gangster.

“Boy, get your little behind out of here!” Trixy commanded. “You need to stay out of grown folk’s business! Didn’t I tell you your daddy was in the Navy and that’s why he’s always gone? Now this here is Mr. Breeze. He is an old friend,” Trixy explained.

“Well, why I ain’t never seen you before?” the little runt asked me.

“I probably been in jail your whole life. How old are you, little nigga?” I asked.

“Six!” he said proudly, with his chest out.

“And what’s your name?”

“Junior,” he responded with a hint of attitude in his voice.

“A’ight, little man. I’ll holla at you.” I watched him as he walked off, heading toward the rec center. Little nigga had a confident swagger that reminded me of a younger me. I quickly shook my head to clear my thoughts, and turned back toward Trixy. “What you drinking?”

“Bacardi rum Bahama Mama the 1.75, liter bottle,” she quoted like she worked for the ABC store or something.

“A’ight, I got you,” I said as I continued to the store.

My thoughts went back to Junior as I walked away. I kind of felt bad for the little dude. I knew Trixy probably had no fucking idea who his daddy really was. The crazy thing was how the little nigga kind of favored me. Naw, couldn’t be. That’s all I need is a little soldier I don’t know about, I thought as I got closer to the store.

Once in the store I searched for Trixy’s liquor. I grabbed it, then grabbed a small bottle of Hennessy and headed to the register.

“Twenty-eight dollars and thirty-two cents,” the cashier stated.

Oh, shit! I ain’t got but twenty dollars, I thought as I looked at the total on the register to confirm what I’d just heard. Embarrassed, I had to tell the cashier lady I only wanted the Bahama Mama. There was no way I could go back to the house without Trixy’s drink. Minutes later I was near her crib.

“That was quick,” she yelled as I walked up.

“Here you go. That’s a big bottle for such a small lady.” I handed Trixy her bottle.

“So what you get for yourself?” Trixy asked, noticing I was empty-handed.

“Nothing. I’m good,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell her how bad I really needed a drink but couldn’t afford it.

“Nah, I can’t drink alone. I’ll be right back.” Trixy disappeared through the barred storm door of her house. Moments later, she returned with a glass filled with ice and another glass filled with ice and a dark liquid. “Here. This is for you.” She handed me the drink.

“What is it?” I asked as I sniffed the glass. My nostrils filled with a familiar scent.

“Hennessy.”

Perfect, I thought as I took a big gulp. The Hennessy burned my throat all the way to my chest as it went down. It’d been so long since I had some liquor in my system, I could feel the shit coating my stomach and going into my veins. Trixy and I sat on the porch and chatted as we drank. Before I knew it, two hours had passed and we had talked about everything from old times to who’s who in the present-day drug game. I was surprised at just how much she knew. It wasn’t long after Trixy had taken the last swallow from her bottle that she began to get a little frisky. Somehow I knew it was coming.

“I know you didn’t buy yourself anything because you didn’t have enough money,” she said in a drunken slur.

“Oh, yeah?” I said, taking another sip of my drink. Nigga was feeling real nice right about now.

“Yeah. If you didn’t want anything you wouldn’t have drunk all those glasses of Hennessy I brought you. It’s cool, though. That’s kinda sexy. You left your drink behind and bought mine.” Trixy came really close to me, then whispered in my ear, “Just thinking about that shit turns me on.” I could feel her lips on my ear, and the heat from her breath radiate down my neck.

Although everything in me wanted to grab her, lay her across the porch, rip off her clothes, and fuck the shit out of her, there was no way I was gonna give this girl another chance to diss me. So I looked at her out the corner of my eye, then turned my head like what she did had no effect on me at all.

“Just in case you didn’t understand the message behind what I was saying, translation: my pussy is wet. You can’t ignore this for long,” Trixy said as she turned around, placed her ass directly in my face, then headed toward the front door.

It took everything in me not to pounce on that ass right away, but I knew I had to play it cool and make her wait a little bit. After about a minute flat, I couldn’t hold out any longer and had to give in. Still refusing to run after her, I got up and took another thirty seconds to stroll toward where she was standing. As I got closer, she turned around, and I was immediately hypnotized by her booty. I found myself walking in a trance-like state right behind Trixy and that irresistible ass of hers.

“I thought you would see it my way.” She smiled as she opened the door.

“Where’s your son?” I asked, not wanting to be in the middle of fucking his mom from the back and have him run in on us.

“I sent him to my mom’s crib for the night” Trixy said, then continued, “My place ain’t much, but it will do for right now.” She locked the door after I came in.

“This is cool,” I responded, looking around.

Her crib was decent. Even though Trixy was kind of on the ghetto side, her taste was pretty close to that of my boogie-ass wife, Maria. Her place was set up almost the same way as the living room in my old house. She had a bad-ass cream couch and love seat that fit the room perfectly, and I was really digging the chocolate lounging chair. Not only that, but the bitch had a sixty-inch flat screen that really set it off. I must say, a nigga was impressed.

“I need to go to my bedroom for a minute. Please make yourself at home. I got Heineken chilling in the fridge if you wanna take the buzz off from all that Hennessy,” Trixy offered.

I quickly went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle, hoping that shit really would take the buzz off. A nigga was really feeling drunk. Shortly after I sat down on the couch, music started playing. It was the sound of Trey Songz’s “Neighbors Know My Name.” I knew exactly what was coming next. I hadn’t had any pussy in over five years, and I knew the slightest touch would cause me to bust within seconds. I wasn’t about to take a chance at embarrassment. As a nigga, I already knew what I had to do.

“Trixy, where’s your bathroom?” I yelled down the hall.

“It’s the first door on the left,” she yelled back.

I rushed to the bathroom and gently shut the door. I wasted no time pulling my pants down. I scanned the room quickly, and grabbed the first bottle of lotion I saw sitting on the counter. I poured some Victoria’s Secret Japanese cherry blossom into my palm and started jerking off. Thinking of all those models in the Hustler magazine I kept while locked up made me cum pretty fast. I flushed the toilet to pretend like I actually used the bathroom, then cleaned myself up. Now I was ready for the real thing. I went back to the living room and sat on the couch. Minutes later, Trixy walked in, dressed in nothing but a sheer robe. My eyes were on the imprint of her ass and titties as she approached me. She stood directly in front of me, then propped one foot up on the couch beside me.

“Do you wanna know what I’m thinking?” she said in the most seductive way.

“What?” I asked, hoping that she was thinking she wanted to deep throat my dick. I was already rock hard just from the thought.

“I’m thinking…” Trixy came in closer to me then continued, “I’m thinking…Why would you smell like Victoria’s Secret?” she said, totally throwing off the moment.

“Oh, after I washed my hands I needed a little lotion. Now get back to what you were about to say before you smelled the lotion.” I slid my hand beneath her robe and rubbed her thigh.

“I was thinking about the first time we had sex. I was a little girl back then. Well, I’m a grown woman now, with big-girl moves,” Trixy said as she parted open her robe and mounted her right leg on the couch’s arm, exposing her thick, pink pussy. I don’t know if it’s because it was the first pussy I’d seen in years, but I swear she had the prettiest set of lips I’d ever seen in my life! She slid her hand between her legs and began to massage her pussy. “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” She dropped her robe completely, then continued, “Come get this pussy, baby.”

I leaned forward and guided my right hand from her thigh up to her right breast. Next, I squeezed her nipple while I played with her clit and watched my fingers disappear into her cave. She licked my fingers, which were dripping from her wetness.

“Take your pants off,” she instructed as she got on her knees in between my legs. I pulled my pants down as fast as humanly possible, and she wasted no time putting it in her mouth. She started off sucking my dick and licking the tip just the way I liked it. My eyes started rolling in the back of my head. I was so into it that I didn’t even realize that she’d used her lips to put a condom on me. Damn, this bitch is a magician, I thought, amazed that she was able to do that without me even feeling it. Her mouth felt so warm and tender as she bobbed her head up and down my shit. I could feel my dick twitch as she glided her tounge in swirls and tightened her cheeks with every head stroke. The way she was doing that shit, it felt like I was in a pussy for real. Goddamn! I said to myself that she wasn’t lying when she said she was a big girl, ’cause this chick was sucking like a professional!

“Suck that shit, Trixy,” I commanded her, while doing all I could to prevent myself from cumming. I didn’t want to cum in her mouth. Not this round anyway. I wanted to cum inside her, instead. After a couple of minutes, I bent her over and put her into a position on all fours. I held on to her titties as I fucked her from behind. After all these years, her pussy was still nice and tight, and her shit was soaking wet, just how I liked it.

“Fuck me harder,” she ordered. She was taking every long stoke I was giving her and loving it. We switched positions and she ended up on top, straddling me. Trixy rode me as if I were the last nigga on earth with a dick. Damn, this girl got some good pussy, I thought as I grabbed her waist tight and forced all nine inches of myself deep inside her. Trixy switched positions again, and her lips landed back on my dick. She pulled off the condom. She sucked it even harder this time. The warmth and wetness from her mouth made me cum within seconds. When I came, she let it shoot all over her face. Trixy was a real freak. We fucked three times within four hours and she still wanted more. But fuck that, I was done. Fucking with Trixy, I would end up missing my appointment with my parole officer. This girl was on a mission, and she definitely proved to me she was all grown up now.

The chirping sound of the alarm clock woke me at seven o’clock in the morning. That shit was like music to my ears. I preferred that any day over the sound of a prison guard shouting at me, “Motherfucker, get the hell up! Chow time.” When I got home after that long night with Trixy, I made sure I set the alarm so I didn’t miss my first appointment with my parole officer. I hopped out of the bed and headed to the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, bacon and eggs began lingering in the air. After putting on my clothes, last night came to mind. Damn, that pussy was good. Trixy wore my ass out. She’s definitely not a virgin anymore. I knew from that day I was going to continue to get into that tight little cave on a regular basis. Even though I had a hell of a time with Trixy the night before, I still couldn’t get my wife off my mind. My face instantly frowned up, and my heart started to pound when I thought about what that bitch had said to me about giving up my parental rights so she could let another nigga raise my kids. I’ll be dead before I have some next nigga playing Daddy to my kids. I felt the rage start to build up inside me, so I had to stop myself and get back on track. I looked in the mirror as I spoke to myself, “Today is a brand new beginning for me. I’m at my crossroads and will go the right way. I will not let bitches, money, or the streets bring me down. The meeting with my parole officer is top priority today.”

After getting my thoughts and priorities back on track, I headed to the kitchen, where my moms was hard at work cooking breakfast.

“Morning, Ma,” I greeted her, with a kiss on the cheek. She had made a feast for me. My favorite meal of the day had always been breakfast.

“Hey, baby, how did you sleep last night?” she asked with one hand turning over frying bacon and the other holding a cigarette.

“Pretty good.”

“Let me fix you a plate to get your day started off right,” she offered.

“Thanks, Ma. Before I went in, you promised me you would stop smoking,” I reminded her.

“With stress from my job, bills, and you locked up, I needed something to help me cope. I’ll tell you what, Breeze. If you can go out there and get a job, I’ll quit smoking cold turkey,” she vowed while laying my plate on the kitchen table in front of me.

“It’s a deal,” I agreed. While I ate, I tried not to think about Maria’s conniving ass, but the bitch kept popping back up. This chick won’t even let me see my own damn kids. Every time I thought about her, my head started hurting.

I rushed and finished my food, then headed out the door. I wanted to make sure I was at least thirty minutes early for my appointment. I thought that would impress my parole officer. From what I’d heard, a P.O. could make or break you, and I damn sure didn’t need anyone else going against me. My odds of survival were bad enough already. Once I was on the bus, I decided I would relax on the way there and have my daily conversation with my main man upstairs. I figured if I put it in his hands, I’d be okay. I put my hand on the cross hanging off the necklace Moses had given me, and closed my eyes.

“Byron Miller,” a man called out as I waited in the foyer. Once I got up, he led me to his office. I didn’t know what to expect.

“Your name is Byron Miller?” he questioned.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“Well, son, my name is Winston Hicks and I’m going to be your parole officer,” he explained while pulling out a cup from his desk drawer.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“This cup is for you to piss in. You get one of these tests once a month. You fuck up once and you go straight back to jail. First and foremost, I don’t put up with no bullshit. This morning I reviewed your record. I must say it was quite long. If you’re a smart man, for your sake, I hope you put all that shit behind you and have plans to change your street ways. By the way, whatever your dumb-ass street name is, I won’t call you that. Your name is Byron Miller to me. Here are some job sites I need you to go on, and I will follow up with these employers. If you don’t go, you’ve won yourself a one-way ticket to jail. As I said before, I don’t play no games. Now, if you really want to better yourself, I will help you as much as I can. You got that, son?”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded again.

“Now, don’t waste my time. Go on and do that piss test. The bathroom is on the right,” he instructed while handing me the cup. Thankfully, I hadn’t smoked.

After the test results came out negative, I was able to take the next step and start looking for a job. Hicks gave me a long list that would take me at least two days to finish, so I dove right into it. I was stepping out of Farm Fresh, where I applied for a night stocker position, when some of my old boys drove by. I didn’t have shit, but I wasn’t going to let them see me sweat.

“Breezy, Breeze,” I heard a call from the car. I walked up to them.

“What up, nigga.” They each dapped me up. They were eager to see what was going on with me.

“I’m good.” I nodded.

“What you got going on for the rest of the day?” Mannie asked.

“My schedule is all open. What’s good?” I replied.

“Say no more. Hop in,” he offered. I jumped in and Mannie sped off.

For the next two hours, I rode around with my niggas while they made their rounds doing pickups. It reminded me of my days in the game, riding around, checking niggas on the block and collecting my dough. Yeah, being with those niggas made me miss the game for a split second, but when I thought about those five years and the vow I’d made the night before my release, I ain’t give a fuck about the game. My boys told me what had been up since I’d been gone. They passed the blunt around as we chatted. I declined the blunt but welcomed the information about the streets. I saw this as a perfect opportunity to verify the information I had gotten from Trixy. I asked about some of the dudes I used to roll with: Killa Mike, Cash, and Peady.

Mannie quickly gave me the rundown. “Mike and Cash got shot up during a robbery. These niggas was dressing up like the police and robbing trap houses. It didn’t take long for niggas to catch on. So one night, when these niggas tried to hit a crib, niggas was waiting on them. As soon as they kicked the door in, niggas sprayed their ass. Killa got hit fifteen times, so he ain’t make it, and Cash caught five. That nigga made it, but he paralyzed, shitting and pissing on his self every day. From what I hear, Peady supposed to be doing it big down south somewhere.”

None of that shit Mannie said was really a surprise to me. Since Mike and Cash had snitched on me, I knew those grimey niggas had it coming. As far as Peady, he was my right-hand man, so he knew how the game went. Not only did he have my knowledge about how to get things done, but he ran off with my money, so why wouldn’t he be doing good? Mannie went on to say that a nigga named Mr. Biggs was like Wal-Mart, and everyone in the seven cities was buying from him.

“I’m holding shit down in Norfolk. Whenever you ready, nigga, I can put you back on,” Mannie offered.

“Nah, duke. I ain’t fucking with that.” I declined his offer just as easily as I had declined the blunt earlier.

“All right, Breeze. I hear you, man. You trying to be on that good-boy shit. Every nigga like that when they first hit the bricks, but you know that shit’ll wear off after a while. Once the streets whip that ass real good, you’ll go back to what you know. And it’s this motherfucking white girl you know best, nigga!” Mannie spoke the truth.

Deep down, I knew what Mannie was saying was right. Selling drugs and making street paper were just about the only things I was really good at. I knew it wasn’t gonna be a easy task, but I owed it to my kids, Ma, and my grandma to stay on the right path and live legit this time around. I had expected getting propositions from niggas, so I already had my head straight. A weak nigga would have easily given in. Before the ride was over, each of them hit me off with a few dollars.

I had them drop me off at an old building a few blocks from my grandma’s crib. There was a job there I needed to check out.

“I’m here about the janitorial position you got,” I said as I walked in the front door.

There was a bald-headed black man sitting at a desk, reading the newspaper. He didn’t even look up as he spoke to me. “You got any experience son?”

“Nah, man. I’m just looking for a gig. I know how to clean up, but I ain’t never had no job,” I said, being honest.

I didn’t know what it was about this man, but I just felt like he was from the streets. He reminded me of an O.G. He finally put down his newspaper and looked up at me. He was silent as he looked me up and down from head to toe. “You on parole, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. There wasn’t any sense in lying. I figured my parole officer had already given him a heads-up that I’d be coming by, anyway.

“What you do time for? Drugs?” he asked like he knew me or something.

“Yes, sir.”

“You doing this to keep your P.O. off your back or you really trying to change?” The O.G. asked question after question.

“Man, I’m trying to live right. I lost a whole lot during that five-year bid. I’m just trying to build my life back and do it the right way,” I said sincerely.

“Okay, my man. I’ve been in your shoes. You remind me of myself when I first got out the pen. I’m gonna give you a try, but one fuck up and you’re out the door. Can you start tonight?”

“Yes, sir! I can start right now if you need me to!” I quickly took the O.G. up on his offer.

“Okay. Meet me at Freedom Bank on Granby Street at seven o’clock. If you’re late, you’re fired,” he said as he laid down the rules. “Dress comfortablly.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks, man,” I said, then walked back out of the office.

I rushed home full of excitement. I wasn’t excited about being a janitor, considering I used to have a maid of my own. To tell you the truth, the shit was kind of depressing. But I knew this was one step in the right direction and one step closer to getting my kids back.

I had just enough time to get some lunch and take a nap. While I was coming in the door, Ma and Grandma were watching the news. Ma was standing by the couch looking as if she’d just come home from work, and Grandma was in her recliner, munching on some salted peanuts.

“Hey, Breeze, how did your day go?” Ma eagerly asked.

“It was a’ight. I saw my P.O. and I got a li’l gig,” I announced, nodding my head.

“That’s wonderful. Where is the job?” Grandma inquired after taking her glasses off.

“It’s at Freedom Bank on Granby Street. I’m going to be a janitor working the evening shifts,” I explained.

“When do you start?” Ma questioned.

“Tonight.”

“Breeze, I’m so proud of you. Come give this old lady a hug,” Grandma replied, reaching her arms toward me. “I know it’s not the best job in the world, and it’s not gonna be easy, but at least it will keep you off the streets.”

“Yeah, and now you can start helping out with the bills!” Ma chimed in.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll do my part. Now are you gonna do your part and stop smoking?” I reminded Ma about the deal she’d previously made.

“Oh, shit, Breeze, I forgot all about our deal. Okay, I’ll try my best…right after this pack is finished! This shit cost me almost ten dollars and I’m not about to throw them away!” She chuckled.

“Yeah, a’ight, Ma,” I said, knowing my mom was full of shit.

“Let me fix you something to snack on. We are about to fry some fish,” Grandma suggested as she got up from her La-Z-Boy chair.

After eating dinner, I took a nap, and awoke to the sounds of gunshots. I looked out the window to see a nigga lying in the street and a car speeding off. It looked like a drive-by. Just another reminder I was back in the fucking hood. I glanced at the clock and saw it was already six. I hopped up, threw on my clothes, and headed out the door. I’d never had a job before in my life and I’d never wanted one. Who ever thought Breezy Breeze would be working, and as a janitor? Boy, shit had really changed.

I showed up at the bank fifteen minutes early. The O.G. was just pulling up. I saw this fine-ass chick standing by the front enterance as I was walking up to the bank. She had a dark-skinned, amaretto complexion, and was about five feet six, with long, thick black hair. I could tell her shit wasn’t no weave, either. Her ass was nice and thick, shaped like an upside-down heart. She didn’t have much to her breasts but I could tell they were just big enough to grab and squeeze. She was definitely the “take home to momma” type. I watched as she was locking up the place.

“Hold that door, baby girl,” the O.G. hollered as he rushed up.

“Grab some of these things, son.” He handed me a bucket of cleaning supplies. I grabbed them and followed him in.

Knowing I wasn’t in any position to holla at any respectable-type chick, a girl like her, I didn’t even look in her direction as we walked in.

“Good evening,” I heard a soft voice say. I was surprised that she’d acknowledged me.

“How you doing?” I tried to sound polite and gentlemen-like.

“Very good, thank you. Have a good night,” she said as she walked away.

“You too.” I nodded.

A nigga was feeling real low right about now. Before I’d gotten locked up, I could pull any girl I wanted, because my game was always tight. No woman could deny me: black, white, hood, rich, whatever they were, they loved them some Breezy Breeze. I had all the accessories to go along with my good looks and irresistible charm, too. The money, clothes, jewels, and cars. There was no way I could come at this bank lady, broke, fresh out of jail, and working a janitorial job. What real bitch would want a nigga like that? I really had to do something about my situation.

“Son, getting here on time is half the battle. Now let’s get to work,” the O.G. said while taking the cleaning supplies I was holding and handing me a dust vacuum.

“You know how to use that?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I lied. I’d never used one, but I knew I could figure it out.

“Well, get to work!”

This gig was a piece of cake. The rules were simple. Anything left on the desk, I couldn’t dare touch. I had to make sure the trash was emptied every night, vacuum, and dust. I had to clean up the bathrooms and break rooms, sweep and mop if there was a spill. There was no way I could fuck that up!