With hands on her hips, she said, "What the fuck are you doing coming over here this time of morning?"

  "Can I come in?"

  She stepped aside and he barged right in. She shut the door and turned to face him. "So, now do you want to tell me what this is all about?"

  "Who the fuck is he, Jada?"

  "Who the fuck is who?"

  "Who was the guy I saw you with the other night at the basketball game?"

  She laughed and said, "So you were there and didn't speak?"

  "Look, I didn't want to cause any problems." Fresh lied. The real reason he didn't speak was because he didn't want Jada to see Q out with a woman who wasn't Starr.

  "Why would it cause any problems? You told me that we were just friends and that you didn't want anything but a friendship." She laughed and sat on the bed. "Oh, so you mad now?"

  "Not mad. Just asking you a question."

  "But you have no right to ask me shit. You ain't my man, and you made it quite clear that you wasn't trying to be my man."

  He sat on the bed beside her, eyeing her breasts imprinted through the shirt. He was trying hard not to be turned on by her, but it was so hard. She was a sexy motherfucker. Now he was thinking about the guy at the game getting what was rightfully his.

  "Is he your man?"

  "You have no right to ask me shit." She laughed and said, "I thought you were a player, Fresh?"

  "I never said one time that I was a player. You seem to think that I'm a player."

  "Look, Fresh." She stood from the bed and made her way into the bathroom and gargled some mouthwash. "Let's get one thing clear. Just like I don't have a right to tell you who you can and can't fuck with, you have no right in telling me what the fuck I can and can't do. Understand?"

  Fresh sat there on the edge of the bed looking like a defeated man. She was right. He was doing the same thing that he told her she had no right to do. He had to sort out his feelings. He didn't know if he was jealous. Was he pissed because she was with someone else and he didn't want her to have somebody else?

  He raised his head and made eye contact with her and said, "You're right, Jada. I have no right to tell you what the fuck to do."

  "I'm glad you realize that."

  "I guess I'm jealous."

  "If it makes you feel better. I'm not with this guy. I just met him."

  "You like him?"

  "I do."

  "Look, Jada." He paused and she plopped right down on the bed again and he was staring at her boobs again. She knew he was looking, but she didn't mind. He lost his train of thought and she laughed.

  "What was you about to say?" Jada asked.

  "I was about to say that if he makes you happy, I think you should give the guy an opportunity."

  That's not what Jada wanted to hear. She wanted Fresh but she didn't want to seem desperate or needy. "You think so?"

  "I do."

  "What do you want?"

  "I don't know what I want."

  She smiled and said, "Well, if you want me, you better come and get me."

  "I do want you."

  "Well, what are you afraid of?"

  "I don't know."

  "Take a chance. You might find love."

  "And that's what I'm afraid of."

  She saw him still staring at her breasts. She removed her T-shirt so he could get a better view of her nipples and she said, "You want me?"

  "I do."

  "Come here."

  He grinned before placing her left tit in his mouth.

  Chapter 5

  A pod is a group of prison cells with a common area where the inmates are sometimes allowed to converse, play cards, watch TV and bullshit. Black was thrown into a pod with eighty other inmates. The pod consisted of forty rooms with two men to each cell. Black stepped into the pod and sitting at a desk was a fat correctional officer named Manley. Manley handed him some toothpaste, a toothbrush and a bar of soap and a towel.

  "Where is the deodorant?" Black asked.

  "Budget cuts, bruh." Manley shrugged.

  "So what am I supposed to do about funky armpits?"

  "You can either borrow some, wait till you go to the store on Thursday or go without. You have options." Manley laughed.

  "That's fucked up." Black mumbled, not wanting Manley to hear him.

  Manley said, "That's life."

  Black had been assigned to room twenty-seven, and as he was approaching his room, someone called out his name. He turned and saw a dude named Cato from his neighborhood. Cato was a short stocky guy. He had a pear-shaped head and huge lips. He and Black had known each other since they were about six years old. And they both had the title of the baddest little kids in the neighborhood.

  The older boys would make them fight each other—sometimes Cato would win, and sometimes Black would win. When they were about thirteen, they started hanging out with each other and even stole a car together. They had gotten arrested together for the stolen car. But Cato had moved out of the hood and Black would see him here and there over the years. Cato had started selling Molly and eventually did prison time.

  Black was happy to see his friend. Cato was the kind of guy that was very animated when he talked. He'd spit and touched your chest and his favorite phrase was "You feel me?"

  Cato approached Black and said, "If it isn't Tyrann Massey."

  Black grinned and said, "Cato Wilson."

  Black hadn't seen Cato in a very long time. The two men embraced and Cato asked, "What room are you in?"

  "Twenty-seven."

  "I'm in twenty-nine," Cato said. "I'll get you some soap, deodorant and toothpaste and bring it to your room, so you won't have to use that bullshit that Manley gave you."

  Black was happy that Cato had offered to bring him some deodorant because there was no way he was going to make it until it was time to go to the store.

  Black entered his room and introduced himself to his roommate—a white dude named Ronnie. Ronnie was a tall gangly biker, with long brown hair and tattoos on his knuckles. He looked like the kind of white boy that would fuck you up if he needed to.

  Ronnie shook Black's hands and said, "I got two rules in this room."

  "And they are?" Black asked staring at the big-ass white boy thinking about what he would have to do to fuck this white boy up if they got into it. He was taller and more muscular than Black. Black knew he would have to cheat. Perhaps grab his balls. Kick his shin. Bust the motherfucker across the head with a mop wringer. Or get him while he was asleep. He hoped it didn't come down to that but Ronnie struck him as the type of motherfucker who thought he owned the cell.

  Ronnie said, "The first rule is you stay out of my goddamned business."

  "The second?"

  "I stay out of yours."

  "Fine with me."

  "Seriously. I don't like anybody talking about me or trying to meddle in my business."

  "I can understand that." Black was making up his bed when Cato knocked on the door and stepped inside. He walked past Ronnie and handed Black the deodorant.

  Ronnie said to Cato, "Is this your homeboy?"

  Cato turned and faced him. "It is. Why?"

  Ronnie laughed and said, "Calm down, little guy. I was just asking because you're in room twenty-nine with my friend John. Let's ask the cop if y'all can switch rooms."

  "Good idea," Cato said.

  Later that evening after count they exchanged rooms and Cato was in the room with Black on the bottom bunk.

  Black sat on the bottom bunk thinking how in the hell was he going to get himself out of this situation and if he didn't get out of this shit, how long would he be gone. He thought back to the last conversation he had with his Dad about leaving the game alone. At that moment, he wished he'd stopped but by the time he'd spoken with his father, the cops were already looking for him.

  Cato was lying on the top bunk checking out the XXL eye candy. He clutched his dick and was about to ejaculate, before reminding himself that Black was in the room with him. He set the magazine down but knew that he would get back to that later for sure.

  "Black, what are you doing down there?" Cato said.

  "Man, just thinking."

  "About what?"

  "How I fucked up."

  "I know you said you fucked up, but how did you fuck up? What happened, bruh? Why are you in here?"

  "Triple murder, but I ain't do it. One of my homies did it."

  "Well, is it one of those situations where he did and you were with him and they want you to roll on him?"

  "Naw. Nothing like that. I don't feel like talking about it right now."

  "I'm in here on some bullshit, too."

  He didn't have to say that. Everybody in jail was in there on some bullshit. Nobody is guilty. All the times Black had been in jail, he'd never met anyone that said, 'Hey, I did what they said I did.'

  "I was living with a friend and the Twelve came to his house." Twelve was code for police, mostly used in trap houses.

  Cato hopped down off the bed. "You feel me?" Cato then peeked out into the common area trying to make sure nobody was listening. "I wasn't even at the house. You feel me? But they found drugs in the room where my stuff was and they're trying to pin it on me."

  "What did the owner of the house say?"

  "He ain't saying shit. They charged him with guns and shit. They ain't charge me with guns, but I gotta get out this motherfucker befo' they hit me with a gun charge. You feel me?"

  "What is your bond?"

  "My bond's a hundred thousand dollars and I need ten to get out and I would have had it. Matter of fact, they took fifty-five hundred from my room. I was rolling, my nigga, but they took everything I had."

  Black sat up, thinking fifty-five hundred dollars hardly qualified as high-roller status. "So, your folks ain't got no property or nothing that they can put up to get you out."

  "Black, you know me. They ain't got shit. You feel me? You been knowing me all my life and we ain't never had shit. You feel me?"

  "Damn."

  Cato sat beside Black on the bed. "Look, Black, I know we ain't really fuck with each other on the street, but we've never been enemies. Except when we were kids fighting every day. But you know me, and you know I'm a stand-up dude. You feel me?" He patted Black on the chest. Black didn't like anybody touching him and the motherfucker saying, 'You feel me?' was getting on Black's goddamned nerves.

  "So what are you getting at?"

  "Look, I know you was making money and lots of it. You know the streets talk and all over Atlanta people been talking about how much bread you got. You feel me?"

  "What's the point? Okay, I got a little bit of money."

  Cato looked Black straight in the eye and said, "Look, man. I need you to help me get up out this motherfucker. If you can."

  Black didn't respond. Was this man serious? Cato wanted Black to give him ten thousand dollars to get out?

  "If you can't do it, I'm cool. We still good. You feel me? But I'm just saying, if you can get me out, I would appreciate it, big bruh. You know I got kids and shit. You feel me? And they need me home."

  Black sighed and said, "I tell you what. If I get out of here, I'll get you out. I promise."

  "What if you don't get out, big bruh? You got some serious charges. You feel me? I'm just gonna keep it one hundred with you. With those kind of charges you got…"

  Black said, "I feel ya."

  "So, what you're saying is if you don't get out. I don't get out?"

  "I mean, if they absolutely tell me that I'm not getting out, I'll still get you out. But let me have my day in court first before I think about helping you."

  Cato said, "I feel ya."

  Black stood and was about to go into the common area to use the payphone when Cato said, "How long you going to be out there?"

  "About ten minutes. Just gotta use the phone. Why?"

  "Can you stay out there for twenty minutes?" He held up the XXL eye candy and said, "I got work to do. You feel me?"

  They both laughed their asses off.

  Chapter 6

  The last seven months for Craig Matthews had been like living in hell. He'd lost everything that he'd ever cared about. He was rarely in touch with his wife and kids nowadays. He lost his mistresses. He'd even lost his license to practice cosmetic surgery and he was staying in a rundown home that sat right across the street from a trailer park. He ended up giving underground butt implants to strippers, trannies and gays to support his coke habit. He'd never thought that he would ever sleep with a tranny and he hadn't intended to, but it happened. And after that, he had starting thinking there was little difference between a transsexual woman and a real woman—well, except that man-part.

  His first time was with a tranny named Persia. She was six feet tall with skin the color of caramel latte and hair that reached the top of her ass. Their first encounter happened after he'd snorted an eight ball of cocaine and he was horny but he didn't have enough money to buy a woman. Persia had begged him for another round of ass injections, but she didn't have the money. He was more expensive than the other black market injectors, but he was better than all them because unlike them, he injected real fat into the asses of his patients and molded them into a shelf.

  He knew exactly what they desired. He had been around enough black women to know what they thought was a nice ass. He called Persia and made her a proposition. He wanted sex, but he wasn't going to sleep with a man. The way he saw it was that if he only got oral sex, it would be okay. He rationalized that he wasn't gay because after all she looked like a woman. Then he got attached and he began to spend more and more time with Persia. It got to the point where a regular woman couldn't turn him on any more. He'd tried several times to sleep with biological women but he could no longer climax. Persia was killed in a car accident and he had resorted to hooking up with escorts.

  He was tired of living like some goddamned peasant while his wife was living in the lap of luxury.

  Craig had phoned Miss America and said he wanted to see her. He asked her to bring a friend but she was adamant about not seeing his cheap ass until he sent her a grand upfront through PayPal. They both had to be careful that TeTe didn't find out. Miss America knew that if TeTe find out she was meeting clients behind TeTe's back, it wouldn't be good. Rumor was that a girl named Naomi had been seeing a client behind TeTe's back and TeTe showed up at her home and ordered her kids to lock themselves in their bedroom while her henchmen held Naomi down and TeTe beat her with a whip.

  Miss America and Fy-Head sat right across from Craig on a dingy brown sofa. He offered them water, soda or beer and Fy-Head asked for a Bud Light.

  After he passed her the beer, he sat across from them and said, "I wanted to know if you would be interested in helping me do something."

  "What?"

  He stood and made his way over to the window. He peeked outside and then closed the blinds tightly. He popped the top off the can of soda as he sat back down across from the two trannies.

  "I know you're thinking that I brought you over for some freaky sexy party."

  "No. We really didn't have sex the last time I saw you because you didn't want to pay."

  "You don't have to keep reminding me of what happened." The first time they met up, Craig had snorted so much coke that his penis had shriveled up and he couldn't even receive head.

  Fy-Head sipped more beer and said, "I'm wondering why the hell am I here. I don't have time for this bullshit. I'm going to tell you right now, I have HIV, so if you want to, you'll have to take your chances."

  Craig laughed and said, "This meeting has nothing to do with that."

  "So what do you want?"

  He stood and paced then ran over to the window and checked the blinds again.

  Fy-head took another sip of the beer and said, "Will you tell me what the fuck is going on? You're making me nervous, motherfucker."

  'I know," Craig said then moseyed over to the sofa again. When he was seated, he looked both trannies in the eyes and said, "Do you know any killers?"

  "What!" Fy-Head said.

  "Listen, I need somebody offed. I mean, I need them murdered but I need a professional to do it."

  Miss America said, "Look, I love my freedom too much for shit like this."

  "I'm not asking you if you yourself are a killer. I am wondering if you know anybody that is down on their luck and could use fifteen thousand dollars."

  Fy-Head said, "Did you say fifteen thousand dollars?"

  "Why would anybody believe you?" Miss America said. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe yo cheap ass got fifteen thousand dollars to your name." She looked around and said, "You live in this cheap-ass house. You have that piece of shit Honda Accord in the driveway. You ain't got no money."

  "You can ask Jada. I was very well off."

  Fy-Head said, "Who the fuck is Jada?"

  "That bird TeTe had with her the first time we met her."

  "Hmmph. I don't ever wanna see that bitch again." Fy-head rolled her eyes.

  Miss America said, "Don't believe shit this motherfucker has to say. He is a wannabe. This clown don't got no real paper."

  Fy-Head was eyeing the Breitling on Craig's wrist and said, "Well, he has something. How much that watch cost?"

  "Twelve thousand dollars," Craig said.

  "So, you had some bad luck? What kind of bad luck because judging by the watch you've had money before?"

  "I used to be the best cosmetic surgeon in Atlanta before they took my license away."

  Fy-head said, "Wait a minute. I knew you looked familiar. You was the guy that stuffed that girl's breast implants with coke and she died, right?"