The Pink Palace 2 Page 3

  Malachi was a big man, built like a linebacker. His shoulders were wide, and his chest was solid, so you know his $3,000 black Italian suit was tailor-made to fit his hulking frame. His hair was cut in a low Caesar fade with endless waves. His skin was a smooth, jet-black complexion, and his eyes were an intense dark brown. He intimidated even the hardest nigga that thought he was a thug.

  Fear was in some ways better than respect, although I didn’t feel either when I was around him. The power of my pussy made him a different man behind closed doors.

  He strolled in with his niggas around him. Big Bump was his bodyguard, and Ricky was one of his boys that ran the corners for him. His eyes scanned the room, and he saw me and gave me that lustful glare. He then made his way up the stairs to his office. It looked like I was gonna get some overtime that night.

  MALACHI TURNER

  All eyes were on me as I walked into the club. Some looked at me with respect, but most of them with fear. That was better. That made niggas easier to control. This was my club, my world, so that made me a god.

  As I glanced across the club, I saw that everything was running smooth, like a well-oiled stripper on a pole. The DJ was spinning a new track from Ludacris, and there were two girls on stage, shaking they asses like they was supposed to. But then I saw my number one rump-shaker standing at the bar, looking finer than a bitch. Jasmine. Since she’d been dancing there, business had been at an all-time high. Just seeing her in that bikini made a nigga’s dick rock hard.

  But I had other things on my mind than pussy. I spotted my idiot little brother, Reggie, fucking with some girls at a table. Stupid nigga tought with his dick more than the got-damn sense he was born with. He better had taken care of that shit I told him to do.

  He saw me and straightened himself up. I headed upstairs to my office with Ricky behind me. Bump stood outside my door. Ricky had a seat in front of my mahogany desk, and I walked to the glass window behind my chair and looked down at the club. I saw Reggie coming upstairs to see me.

  “Do you think Reggie got that shit taken care of?” Ricky asked me.

  “He better have. Did you get that shit from Jorge?”

  “Yeah, right on time as usual. Detective Raymond made sure we stayed off the radar.”

  Big Bump opened my door and let Reggie in.

  “What’s up, bruh?” He then turned and saw Ricky and scowled. He made no secret of his dislike of him.

  Reggie thought that just because he was my brother that he should be running the corners instead of Ricky. He was my brother, but he was also a fuck-up. Ricky handled whatever I told him to do without screw-ups.

  “You can’t say hello, Reggie?” Ricky said to him sarcastically.

  “Rick,” Reggie said dryly.

  “Did you get that thing done, Reggie?” I said to him.

  “Hell yeah. That nigga Dre ain’t gonna be a problem for ya anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “I told ya I would handle that bitch. You should let me handle more shit for you, bruh,” Reggie bragged and looked at Ricky.

  Ricky smiled and shook his head. “You got something to say to me, Reggie?”

  “If I got something to say to you, nigga, then I say it,” Ricky informed him with a lot more bass in his voice.

  “Look at this nigga. Just because you took care of some small-time nigga for Malachi, you think you can do what I do? You silly, nigga.” Ricky laughed at him.

  “Fuck you, Rick! Dre was one of the biggest dealers in Atlanta, and I handled that nigga! Keep on talking shit and I’ll handle yo’ bitch ass too!”

  Ricky stood up and got in Reggie’s face. If Reggie wasn’t my brother, Ricky would’ve put a bullet in his head by now. Ricky had killed niggas for much less in the streets.

  “You can’t handle shit, nigga. That’s why Malachi keeps your bitch ass up in this club where he can watch yo’ baby ass.”

  Ricky was correct in his assessment. Reggie was too immature to be left on his own in the streets. I promised our mother I would take care of his ass before she passed away, but with Reggie taking care of Dre for me, he was starting to prove himself for me.

  “Both of you niggas shut the fuck up.” I took a seat behind my desk and pulled out an already rolled blunt from my desk. “You did good, Reggie. You just do as I tell you and I’ll give you more shit to do in the future.”

  My private line started to ring, and I looked at the caller ID. “Both of y’all get the fuck out. I gotta take this call.”

  They both walked out of my office, and I picked up the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, daddy,” my six-year-old daughter, Courtney, said.

  “What are you doing up so late?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, Daddy. Mommy said it would be all right if I called you. When are you coming by?”

  That bitch of a mother of hers knew I wouldn’t be back over in Dunwoody until that weekend. She did this shit on purpose to mess with me. She knew Courtney was the only way she could see me on a regular basis.

  “Baby girl, Daddy has a lot of work to do, so I won’t make it over there until later.”

  “Okay,” she said sadly.

  “But don’t worry, sweetheart. When I see you, I’m gonna have a surprise for you.”

  “Really?” she asked, excited.

  “Yes, really. Now go to bed and I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “I love you, Courtney.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  “Okay, now put your mother on the phone.” I looked down out the window and saw Jasmine sitting at the bar, looking up at my window. I gestured for her to come up. I heard Courtney giving the phone to her mother, Latoya.

  “Yeah,” she said dryly.

  “What did I tell you about putting shit in Courtney’s head?” I growled at her.

  “I just told her if she wants to see her daddy then call him,” Latoya snapped with attitude.

  “You gonna stop playing games with me, Latoya! You gonna stop that shit or—”

  “Or what, nigga? I’m the mother of yo’ child! You should be here with us instead of that damn club fucking wit’ them strippers!”

  “Don’t forget that I met your ass in a strip club, shaking yo’ ass too, bitch! And if you wanna keep living in that big-ass house that I’m paying for, you do what the fuck I tell you to,” I reminded her.

  There was silence on the line as she thought about what I’d just told her.

  Big Bump opened my door and let Jasmine in.

  “I just want us to be a family again, Malachi. You know I love you,” Latoya said to me.

  Jasmine walked over and sat her sexy, fat round ass on my desk.

  “You just remember what I said and there won’t be any problems,” I said and hung up.

  Jasmine spun her fat ass around on my desk and faced me. “Wifey stressing you out?” she said, teasing me.

  “She not my bumbaclot wife.”

  “I hate seeing you so upset, Malachi,” she said and kicked off her red Prada shoes. Then she seductively rubbed her feet up my slacks and found my rock hard dick. Damn, she was so fucking sexy.

  I grabbed her long, thick leg. Her calves were muscular, sculpted from hours of dancing.

  “What you got for me, baby?” she asked.

  I pulled six Ben Franklins out my pocket and dropped it on my desk. She skillfully scooped it up and tucked it under her bikini top. Then she dropped between my legs and unzipped my slacks and pulled out my dick.

  She darted her tongue around the tip then licked my sensitive spot just below the head. She sent shivers up and down my shaft. Her technique was the shit!

  I leaned back in my chair, and she deep-throated me and milked my dick for the next hour. She served me like everybody else. Like I said, this was my world, and I was a god.

  2

  Paranoia

  Atlanta, GA

  NIKKI

  As much as I hated to leave Dre’s
side, I had to get back to Penny at the shop. Between Penny and Janelle coming in helping her out, business was still coming into the store, but bills needed to be paid.

  It had been one month since Dre went into a coma, and the hospital was sending me bills left and right. We didn’t have heath insurance. I was lucky Dre and I had some paper saved away for Tyler’s college fund. I hated to touch it, but I didn’t have much choice.

  What the hell am I gonna do now? I thought as I rode down the elevator in Emory Hospital. How can I run the business, take care of Tyler, and continue to pay Dre’s medical expenses before we’re completely broke? I hope Obama can get this universal health care plan past them fools in Washington.

  I walked through the walkway from the lobby to the parking garage and took another elevator to the fourth level. As I was walking to Dre’s black Cutlass Deville, I heard somebody bumping T.I.’s Paper Trail album. I looked down the garage and saw a black Escalade on 24-inch rims. The windows were a dark tint, so I couldn’t see who was inside. I got a bad vibe for some reason, and I got in the Cutlass and started it up.

  I pulled out of the parking space and drove by the Escalade. Nothing happened. Maybe I was still just a little paranoid.

  I got to the shop and saw Penny and Janelle holding down the fort for me. They didn’t know how much I loved them for stepping in and helping me like that. Penny was checking a lady out at the counter, and Janelle walked over to me and gave me a hug.

  “What’s up, cuz?” Janelle said to me.

  “Same old shit.”

  “Dre’s still the same condition?”

  “Yeah. The doctors are still telling me there’s no telling when Dre could come out of this.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nikki,” Janelle said to me sincerely.

  “You don’t need to be. That muthafucka Malachi is the one that’s gonna be sorry.”

  “Malachi? Who’s that?” Janelle asked me.

  I shouldn’t have let his name come out of my mouth.

  “Is he the one that did this to Dre?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police?”

  “I don’t have any proof he did it. Plus I don’t trust them fuckin’ cops either.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that knowing that her husband Jayson was a cop too. “I’m sorry, Janelle. I know Jayson is a good man.”

  “It’s okay, Nikki. Who is this Malachi?”

  “He’s the new owner of The Pink Palace,” I said to her, and Janelle shook her head. It seemed like a lifetime ago we both used to dance up in there. Janelle had done her best to put that place behind her, and here I was bringing it back up. “He and Dre did some business together back when Dre was hustling. When Dre got busted, he still owed him some money. For the last three years, Dre has been paying him back, and after he paid him what he owed, Malachi wanted to extort more money from him.”

  “Let me guess: Dre refused to give him any more money and Malachi went after him,” Janelle said.

  “Yeah. Piece of shit couldn’t just let him be. He just took him from me,” I said as tears watered my eyes.

  “It’s okay, Nikki. We’ll get through this together. Maybe I can ask Jayson to look into this Malachi and see what he can turn up.”

  “No. Janelle, I got you involved with Damien’s psycho ass and he almost raped you. I’m not gonna get you twisted up with this nigga too. This is not your problem.”

  “Nikki, I’m a big girl now, and I know what you went through with Damien. I won’t let you go through it again with anybody else.” Janelle still thought it was her fault that Damien and Horse nearly beat me to death three years ago. It was my own reckless lifestyle that put me in that situation in the first place. I wouldn’t put Janelle in harm’s way again.

  “Don’t worry, Janelle. I’ll be fine. Just don’t tell Jayson about this. Malachi will get what he’s got coming sooner or later. They always do. For now my only concern is Dre’s health and raising Tyler. I just don’t want him to grow up without his father.”

  “He’s gonna pull out of this, Nikki. I know it.”

  I wished I could be so sure of that. It had been over a month since Dre slipped into this coma, and the doctors had no clue when he might come out of it, if he ever did. I had to be realistic about it. Dre might never wake up.

  God, you can’t do this to us. We’ve gone through so much already. We both changed so much, just to have our past come in and bite us in the ass. Please, God, just help my family.

  * * *

  The next morning, I dropped Tyler off at the daycare and headed to the hospital. As I was driving down Peachtree Street past the Fox Theater, I saw a black Escalade two cars behind me. I thought it was the same one I had seen in the parking garage the day before. It was following me. I knew I was not being paranoid now.

  Who is it? Is it Malachi? Is he keeping tabs on me? Or is he trying to finish the job he started and kill Dre?

  I pulled my car into a parking lot quickly, and the Escalade drove by. I looked through my rearview mirror and saw the guy behind the wheel. Same 24-inch rims I saw the day before. The tinted windows were down, and I got a real good look at his face. I had never seen him before, but I knew a dope boy when I saw one. He must have worked for Malachi. He wasn’t going to let this go until Dre was dead. What was I gonna do now?

  JASMINE

  Some folks might have called me materialistic, money hungry, or superficial, and you know what? They were absolutely right! Fuck a dollar and a dream! I needed hundred dollar bills to make me cream!

  I had The Pink Palace on lock. Plus I had Malachi breaking me off extra for the exclusive favors I gave him. With Malachi giving me top billing, I could afford to live a lavish life in a luxury condo in Buckhead, furnished with top of the line Italian furniture, contemporary appliances and fixtures, including a washer and dryer, not to mention a private indoor pool and private parking lot!

  Like I said before, I was not your average stripper shaking my ass at a hole in the wall club. Before you think I was just another black girl lost from a broken home with daddy issues, I’ll have you know I grew up with both of my parents in the house, and I graduated from Spelman College with a bachelors and masters of science degree. I started dancing at the Red Light Club to help me pay tuition. After finishing school and seeing how much money I was making a night from dancing, I decided not to take an internship getting coffee for some jackass in a suit.

  But what set me apart from the average chick in the club was more than my pretty face, big boobs, bubbly personality, and voluptuous ass. It was my ambition. I didn’t get caught up in the stripper lifestyle. This was a business, and I was all about my business! I had my own Web site, Facebook, and Twitter. I had over 25,000 followers on Twitter and Facebook, where I sold my own calendar with photos I had taken by Marian Designs in Atlanta. I also did private parties and traveled around the country to other clubs to dance for the right price: everywhere from Magic City, Sue’s Rendezvous, The Rollexxx Club, and Erotic City. I got money!

  I had no regrets—well, as far as my career choice. None. But I wished I never lost the friendship of my girls, Rashida and Joyce. Especially Rashida. I loved her. Let’s just say things ended badly. I still had the lumps to prove it. But fuck it, that was the past. Money over niggas and bitches was my creed now, and as long as I had Malachi’s nose wide open, my cash flow was unlimited.

  I drove to The Pink Palace in my silver CLS550 Mercedes-Benz, and once I got inside, I saw my new plaything, Kandi. She was in the locker room, looking in the mirror, putting on her makeup. She was a cutie pie with that satin lace flyaway babydoll. Her fat little camel toe was imprinting through her matching satin panties. Just looking at her made me wet.

  “Hey, Kandi,” I said to her as I walked up behind her.

  “Hey, Jasmine,” she replied in a perky tone.

  “You getting ready to hit the stage?”

  “Yeah. I hope I can make a little extra money tonight,” she confirmed as she finished apply
ing her pink MAC lipstick.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “I just got some bills I need to catch up on.”

  “Your boyfriend can’t help you out?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend now,” Kandi said and turned around and looked at me. “Well, at least not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  “He couldn’t deal with me working here. Thinks I’m fucking every nigga in the club! So stupid. This is just a job.”

  “I hear ya. Men can be so damn insecure,” I cosigned and caressed her arm. Um, I could tell she didn’t mind my touch. That was always a good sign. “Listen, if you wanna make a little extra cash, I can hook you up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I do a few private shows around town, and I can take you with me. The money is good, and the niggas are usually corporate types. Pushovers. Show ’em a little ass, let ’em touch a titty, and you’ll get paid. If you up for it, just let me know.”

  “Am I? Hell yeah! I’m trying to get this money. Good looking out, Jasmine,” she said and hugged me. “Ya know, at first I was a little nervous here, not knowing anybody, but you really be looking out for me. Thank you.”

  “It ain’t nothing but a thing. I’ll let you know when my next gig is.”

  “Cool. I better get on stage now. Talk to you later,” Kandi said and walked to the stage.

  Oh, sweet Kandi. I’ma take very good care of you all right.

  I turned and looked in the mirror and smiled. I walked to the side of the stage and watched Kandi on stage doing her thing on the pole. The way she did them splits made me eager to get in between them thighs.

  As I was watching the show, I saw a sexy-ass chocolate sista walk up in the club. Seeing a chick up in the club was nothing new. They were some of my best tippers. She was rockin’ a V-neck blue Versace blouse, Seven jeans that looked like they were painted on that fat ass, and black Steve Madden stilettos. But this chick wasn’t here for the show. She made her way to the stairs leading to Malachi’s office. No way the security was gonna let her up to Malachi’s office no matter how good she looked.