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The dude who had given Jasmine the drink walked back up to her and told her that Jus wanted to see her. Jasmine nodded and turned around and looked in Black Justice’s direction. She kept dancing and waved at him, and then she signaled for him to give her a minute. She didn’t want to seem all eager and desperate. When the song ended, Jasmine made her way over to Black Jus, who stood up as she approached.
He looked at the tattoo on her neck. “Love is cursed—I like that. You just got that tat?”
“Thank you,” Jasmine replied. “Yeah, I just got it.”
“Yo, I know that I know you, but I’m trying to figure out from where.”
Jasmine gave Black Jus a disgusted look. “Jasmine.”
“Right, right. You from Queens, right?”
Jasmine nodded and smiled.
“You used to fuck with that nigga Shabazz?”
“Yo, I swear me and Shabazz might as well have been married or some shit. Everybody links me to him, and I wasn’t even fuckin’ with him for that long before he got killed.”
“So what’s up wit’chu?”
“I’m just doing me right now, trying to make my own moves.”
“Whatchu mean?”
Jasmine looked at Black Jus, and then she drank some more of her champagne. “It’s too noisy in here. I can’t really talk like I want to, but I gotta get wit’chu and discuss something.”
“Fuck the music! Let’s talk now.”
Jasmine didn’t want to talk right then and there because she wanted to record the conversation. Turning on the recorder at that point wouldn’t have made any sense because the music would have drowned them out.
Jasmine stood on her tippy toes and yelled into Black Justice’s right ear. “Here’s what it is. I just need a new connect right now. I got this nigga from North Carolina, and I had him going through Ghetto Mafia niggas, but you know how hot shit is right now with them.”
Black Justice was as greedy as any drug dealer, and the only thing he cared about more than money was his looks.
“So what’s good, ma? Talk to me. He lookin’ for weight?”
Jasmine nodded her head.
“I gotchu. You know how I gets down.”
Jasmine smiled.
“So you fuckin’ with that nigga? It’s your man or what?”
“Something like that.”
“Whatchu mean?”
“I mean, I ain’t trying to tie my pussy down.”
Black Justice laughed, and then his man came with a brand-new bottle of Hennessy and handed it to him.
“You want some?” he asked Jasmine.
Jasmine shook her head. “So let me get your number because I see you about to get twisted.”
Black Justice took out his cell phone and gave Jasmine his number. “Call me right now, and I’ll lock you into my phone, and you can lock me into yours.”
Jasmine didn’t know which number to give him, but something told her to just give him the FBI-issued number, and that’s what she did. She took out her FBI BlackBerry and dialed his number.
