Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 9- Alice

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me, you nasty muthafucka. Oh, fuuuuck meeeeee!" My eyes roll around in my head. This nigga's dick got my pussy creaming.

The last thing my old ass needs is a young buck that wants to lay up in some pussy all day, but after this muthafucka proved his ass wasn't all talk and helped me with the job last night, I'm going to feed his ass all the pussy he can handle.

"Aw. Sheeeiiit, baby. I'm comin'," he announces, rotating his hips. My pussy squirts while I start talking in tongues-which tickles me because I've never been inside nobody's church. "You love this dick, baby? Hmmm?"

"You know it." I throw everything I got back at him.

I watch as his handsome face twists in ecstasy. A second later, he pulls out his glazed dick and candy-coats my pink pussy. Afterwards, he crawls down the bed and laps all that good shit up. Turns out, the nigga's dick action ain't got shit on his head game. Oh. My. God.

"Oooh, sheeeiiiit." I cream and squirt. But my new man gobbles it up until we get stuck on an endless cycle. Exhausted, I beg him to stop so I can catch my breath. At long last, he takes pity on me and climbs back up my body. "Kiss me," he orders, and then shares our essence with me.

I ain't gonna lie. We're sweet as hell. After a nap and a shower, I make my way to the living room to see if there's anything on television about the job we pulled last night. I click the TV on and a blast from the past, Captain Melvin Smith, fills the screen with a reporter trying to shove a microphone under his mouth. How this crooked muthafucka still got a job is beyond me. It's no secret that he's a stick-up nigga with a badge and a CL through and through. He gets his people the best shit because he robs all the good connects.

Supercop my ass.

Caught on camera is a car chase turned deadly. One of the vehicles seen here is believed to belong to FBI-wanted felon, Terrell Carver. He is most recently wanted in connection with the shooting death of police officer Sasha Smith and the kidnapping of her son, Christopher. The son was found last night in West Memphis through an anonymous tip. He suffered a bullet to the shoulder and is expected to pull through.

"What the fuck?" The cameras cut to the image of an older black woman sitting out on her porch with a head full of hair rollers.

"Everybody knows the truth of what's goin' on out here-and it's time somebody put a stop to it. People can't even step out of their front door no more in fear of these kids out here shootin' all the time. I'm sick of it. We got buildings blowing up, car chases and bullets flying into people's house. Somebody got to do somethin' about this." She shakes her head as her mouth curls in disgust. "You can't tell me we ain't living in the last days. People have just gone damn crazy."

The camera returns to the news reporter and Captain Smith's picture is replaced with a face I know very well. My son, Terrell. I turn up the volume.

We have yet to confirm that Terrell Carver is the driver of this '77 Monte Carlo. The Federal Bureau of Investigation remains on a citywide manhunt for him. If you have information about Mr.Carver's whereabouts, please call . . .

I shut off the television and try to make sense of what I'd just heard. Now don't get me wrong, I ain't one of those clueless mommas who think her baby is some kind of angel-but kidnapping and shooting some little boy? What the fuck did Maybelline teach his ass? I block out my own failings as a mother to my other little boy, Mason.

They say I sold him for a few rocks, but I don't buy that. I would never be that fucked up to do something like that. Never. Maybelline was behind that shit, I know it. Her trifling ass couldn't stand the fact that I could have babies and she couldn't. That's why all her niggas found their way to my bed. I shut off the television and try to digest the news, but it's all too much. I got questions-a lot of questions, but after escaping the crazy house, I can't just stroll my ass into a police station for a one on-one with Melvin's crooked ass.

"The FBI," my boo says, coming up behind me and shaking his head. "I hate to say it, but Snake is always in the middle of some shit."

I give him the shut-the-fuck-up look. "What?" He shrugs. "What did I say?"

"That's my baby you're talking about." I mean-mug his ass and mush his face. "Have some fuckin' respect."

Just because this nigga can throw some good dick around don't mean that he can talk out the side of his neck. He smirks but tosses up his hands. "A'ight. Whatever." I catch an attitude. "What are you trying to say?"

"I didn't say shit. I just came out here to see what you were cooking for breakfast."

"Cooking?" I look him up and down. "Is there something wrong with your hands? I don't fuck and feed niggas. If you're hungry then go and fix you something to eat." He stares at me like I'd slapped the shit out of him.

When he sees that my shit is for real, he backs up. "Damn. It's like that?" My expression doesn't change. What the fuck do I look like? Shaking his head, he turns and walks away, but not without adding, "That shit's foul. You could at least make a nigga a sandwich . . . or some flapjacks."

Flapjacks? "What the fuck did you just say?" He keeps marching toward the kitchen. "Nigga, you hear me." I rush after him into the kitchen and get in his face. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?"

Boo stares at me, looking stupid. "All right then, roll your mute ass up out of here."

"What?"

"Oh, now your ass can speak?" I rock my head and then jab a finger in the center of his head. "Then tell me this: how the fuck do you know Maybelline?" He blinks.

"And think real hard before you spit out a lie. My ass ain't stupid." He blinks faster. "You've fucked her," I answer for him. "What?" He tries to laugh the shit off. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Maybelline fixes flapjacks for niggas after she finishes fuckin' them. Now here you are, asking me for flapjacks?"

"All right. All right. My bad. I didn't mean to upset you." I stare him down.

"A'ight," he gives in.

"Peaches and I had a little thing a while back-and then she dumped me for that nigga we murked last night at her crib. Bet they asses ain't laughing now. Payback is a bitch."

I don't fuckin' believe what the fuck I'm hearing.

"What's the big deal? The shit is over with." He steps closer and pinches my titties. "I'm with you now."

"So you left my sister's bed to crawl up in mine?" Fuckin' story of my life.

"Well, it wasn't exactly like that."

"Uh, huh. And now you want me to fix you flapjacks like Maybelline used to do for you," I shoot back to make sure I got the shit straight. "Were you comparing me to her when you were eating my pussy, too?"

I reach over to the ten-slot butcher block and whip out the biggest knife. "Go ahead and lie. I dare your ass."

"Whoa. Whoa." He backs up.

"Don't fuckin' 'whoa' me, Arzell. Go ahead and speak your mind. You done already told me that I was a lousy muthafickin' parent a few minutes ago. What else do you got to say? I want to fuckin' hear it."

"I didn't say no such a thing." His face twists harder as he backs up. "Oh. So I'm fuckin' crazy now? I'm just hearing shit, is that it? Is that what you're saying?" I feel the muscles in my face twitching.

Arzell eyeballs the knife in my hand and I read in his face that he's going to make a move for it a full second before he launches. Big fuckin' mistake. I wield a blade second to none.

He moves and in the next second, the butcher knife is sticking out the center of his chest. He looks at me all shocked and shit.

"Tell the devil to fix your ass some flapjacks."