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STREET KARMA. Pain
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His vibrating iPhone broke Red out of his ruminations. Glancing at the screen, he saw another text from Lovely, sent with a video message. Scrolling, Red opened the video message. He could feel his eyes growing in size while looking at the screen. His mouth stayed open for the entire two-minute video of Lovely seductively rubbing her clit with a vibrator.
‘I’m on my third nut and counting Daddy! WHERE R U?’
The message read, and Red felt an immediate response. “Ooh-wee!” He shouted, his dick already rock-hard.
Desperately pressing the reply button, Red was about to reply, but saw that Low was coming his way. He secured the phone on his waist, and shook his head, whistling in blissful anticipation of a booty-call. Sighing thankfully that Low only needed a ride to the stash-house, Red wanted to drop off his mentor, and haul ass to Lovely’s condo.
“This nigga swear he fly,” Red muttered under his breath when Low got closer.
Looking freshly dipped in Versace silk linens from head to toe, Low was his unflappable self. Flossing five-carat diamond cuff links on his ivory white and gold Versace button-up lit up with every step, Low’s matching ivory white Versace silk slacks were tailor pressed perfect. Cuffed precisely over ivory ostrich skinned, round-tip slip-ons, his slacks were complemented by two large Versace sun pendants on the face of each shoe. Each pendant made of solid gold, with a three-carat diamond flooding the face of the sun—worth about fifty thousand each. Throw in his five-hundred-thousand-dollar, ruby studded Cartier watch, Low looked like a million bucks.
Making his way through the hotel’s massive double doors, Low walked to the valet parking area. A car’s horn caught his attention, and Low’s face lit up when he locked eyes on Red’s McLaren Roadster. Hustlers have a way of communicating without saying a word. The suicide doors swung open on the Benz. Red was telling Low that he was officially in the building. Then Red, one gator foot at a time, stepped out the two-door coupe. Low’s face straight beamed with a great smile. It was a joy similar to a father witnessing his son reaching a higher level of success.
“Okay then pimpin!” Low excitedly exclaimed.
Red glanced to his right, and began to lightly brush his shoulders off. Low threw his head back in laughter at the move.
“I see ya shining nigga!” Low joked, making his way over to Red.
“Yessir, I’m in my motherfucking bag!”
The two hustlers locked hands, embracing with a homeboy hug. Low stole a glance at Red’s wrist.
“Damn, my nigga. You could’ve at least bought yourself a rollie,” Low joked.
“You right,” Red smiled.
“Fuck is this? What you need to know the time in Asia for? Nigga you ain’t an international playa like me,” Low chuckled.
“Nigga, you’re laughing cause your old-ass ain’t up on this new shit,” Red retorted, gesturing towards his canary studded watch.
“That’s what you think…”
“After tonight, even bitches in Japan gonna want a taste of this eggroll. Cause the boy knock down these bricks like King Kong in the flesh nigga!” Red laughed, giving the face of his iced-out watch two assuring taps.
“Say no more, playa…” Low said, jokingly lifting up his hand in an act of surrender before he continued. “But say bro, that’s a mighty nice car you got there.”
Low quickly gave Red’s new ride the once-over. With a raised eyebrow, he glanced back at Red, and asked, “You got your license, my nigga?”
“Ah nigga don’t trip,” Red said in a serious tone. “You already know. I never leave home without my
license,” he declared, and raised his shirt exposing a.44 Smith & Wesson revolver.
“Good nigga, cause I forgot my shit upstairs,” Low said.
“Look at you,” Red said, shaking his head before continuing. “Fuck it. We ain’t headed too far, right?”
Low’s car was parked at the stash house. Low always stay strapped, carrying two.357 Magnums in armrest of his Bentley Continental Flying Spur.
“Oh for sure. You know my twins go nowhere else. Soon as you drop me off, I’ll be good.”
“Well a’ight then my nigga. I guess we good to go. Hop in so we can get the fuck up.”
The Mercedes’ engine roared as Red maneuvered in and out of the highway’s traffic lane. Low sat snugly in the passenger seat while Young Jeezy’s, Trap Or Die boomed through the cars Bose sound system. Low adjusted the volume then reclined, resting his baldhead on the leather headrest. He lifted the crypie weed to his mouth, and lit it.
“Bro, I’m telling you…” Low began as he inhaled the thick weed smoke deeply into his lungs. Then he continued. “I think I just met the baddest bitch ever!” Low exhaled the laced fumes, and passed the weed to Red.
“Nigga, you trippin,” Red snickered in amusement, took a long pull off the weed, and kept his eyes on the road.
“Man I ain’t even bullshitting, bro,” Low said.
“The bitch’s bad as fuck, man. I swear she look like that broad… Ah… You know that broad we be seeing in all them King and XXL magazines?”
“Who…? You mean Angel…?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one,” Low said, snapping his fingers.
“Yeah sure… Angel’s bad. That bitch can’t look that good,” Red snickered, shaking his head then continued. “Angel’s a straight up twenty-piece.”
“You think it’s a game, huh? I ain’t even joking, bro. And the shit about it… You’d think a bitch that beautiful would be a straight up saint, right? Man, look-a here!”
Red was laughing as he switched lanes, and tried his best not to choke on the weed smoke. Red could tell from Low’s enthusiasm that Low was about to become animated.
“Good thing I never let looks fool me, when it comes to these broads.”
“Yeah, but I bet you was spitting that A-1 tech to her though,” Red chuckled.
“Shit, nigga. I ain’t even have to spit no game to that ho. Soon as the bitch seen them stones on the kid’s wrist it was a wrap. She was instantly in the matrix!”
Red threw his head back in laughter, knowing well the effect his own jewels had on woman he first met. Then chuckling, he said, “Nah, you ain’t have the bitch stuck on the stones like that bro.”
“Man I told you I ain’t had to spit no game. Soon as the bitch seen the rubies on the kids wrist the bitch turned into Roger Clemens, and straight fastballs me the pussy.
They both burst out laughing at Low’s animation and his analogy.
“I swear, bro—word to the Pound. I tell this bitch my name…next thing I know, she’s pulling out the visa, and started charging drink after drink to that shit. She even insisted on charging a room for the whole week.”
Red glanced at Low, smiled, and said, “Man, I know you didn’t have shorty maxing out her lil’ credit card trying to impress you?”
“I was about to,” Low said with a devilish smirk.
“Oh yeah…?”
“Yeah… But you know I had to let her see she was in the presence of a boss.”
“Anyway bro… Soon as we get in the suite, the bitch pulls out a big prescription bottle full of these.”
Red glanced down at Low’s at opened hand. Skeptically