Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 2

C's hit the block with Cleo still on the brain. He'd tried the whole ride to his peoples spot to shake her from his thoughts, but her face kept sliding back into his mind. Those eyes were crazy as shit, yo. Rainforest green. Where'd a chica Negra get off having eyes like that? And her hair! All curly and shit, smelling like vanilla and cocoa butter. His car was still lit up from her scent. Normally it wasn't his style to fuck around with girls that young. He liked his females older and spicy, and beasts in the sheets. On the floor. In the shower. Against the wall. It didn't matter as long as they could put it down. So why the hell was a fourteen year old girl up his fucking nose?

He was tripping like a crack head on an all-night flight. Like he had no control over himself. Ain't no bitch ever had him open wide like that. Sheeit! He was playa made and game ready. At sixteen he had more thangs than a middle-age post office worker on the job for fifteen years. Motherfuckers recognized. He didn't fuck around in those streets. He made his money come back like boomerangs. So he didn't have the frame of mind to be around there pheenin behind a bitch, even one as fine as his little troublemaker. He chased paper not hoes.

C's pulled the car to a stop in front of an old shabby house, with a chain-linked gate around the yard. Two identical red nose pit bulls ran to the gate, growling and barking at the car. One of the bad motherfuckers even grabbed ahold of the fence and began to shake the damn thing. Ignoring the bitches at the gate, C's leaned forward and snatched his glock nine from under the driver's seat, along with a half of kilo of Columbia's finest. Placing the gun and coke in his lap he waited for his lick.

After a couple minutes of waiting, his worker tapped on the passenger window. C's reached over and unlocked the door. The short, chubby dude slid in the car, and then looked at him expectantly.

"Holla at me," C's said, giving the guy a side way glance.

"Man, C's." The boy said as he rubbed his hand across the top of his shaved head. "I got sixty-two fifty."

"For what? A quarter?" C's asked as he ran his finger across the barrel of his gun.

"Naw. A half, Ese!" Chubs countered back.

Oh hell no. He knew damn well this fat fuck hadn't made him tremble all the way across town, to haggle with him about his prices. "Why you fuckin' with me. My halves are twelve five."

"That's crazy and you know that shit, C's." The boy eyed the gun in his lap and swallowed, making his Adam's apple bob up and down. "That's how much a whole bird is going for out west. You need to get with it, folk. Come on, work with me now. I'm trying to eat just like you."

"Right about now, Chubbs, you're playin' with my freedom." C's fingered the trigger on his gun. His patience was growing short and he still needed to touchdown in the hood so he could check Tina's ass. "I told you when I called how much them thangs were going for. You said okay. So here I am with the shit laid across my lap ready to go. What you gonna do?"

"Man, damn." Chubbs grunted. C's watched him snatch a wad of cash from his drawers. Nice. Talking about dirty money. "Here, holmes. Twelve-five. It's all there, count it."

"Ain't worried. I know where you live." C's opened his ashtray and gestured for Chubbs to drop the wad in. He'd be damned if he touched that money after his punk ass served it up wet from the sweat off his balls. "Now jump the fuck out before nine roll through." He demanded as he handed over the half of brick.

"Aw 'ight, Aw 'ight. Slow yo' roll I'm movin'." Chubbs laughed, opening the car door. "I'ma hit you when I jump this. Cool?"

"Naw." C's shook his head. "I'm out. I'll give you call when I re-up."