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Homicide slowly shook his head but didn’t say anything.
Jasmine wondered just what he knew and what he had seen on the phone. “So you was just gonna leave and not say anything?”
“I’ll hit you up later today. Go back in the bed and get some sleep.”
“What’s wrong?”
Homicide knew that Jasmine had caught him looking at her phone and didn’t want to come across like the grimy nigga he was. “A’ight, I’ll keep it one hundred wit’chu.”
“Please do.” Jasmine didn’t want to feel used, like some stripper slut who got fucked by a random dude, and at the same time she desperately wanted to know if Homicide was on to her.
“We ain’t have enough time to chop it up like I wanted to, but yo, the thing is, I got a lot of enemies in this town, and it don’t take much to get caught slippin’.”
“I’m lost.”
“When you fell asleep, your phone was vibrating, and I saw a text message from BJ. So—”
Jasmine sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Ugggh.” She was about to flip, but she held her cool.
“So I know that name, and the first thought was, is it the same bitch-ass BJ that I know who almost got killed? So I looked through your phone book, and I see all these Ghetto Mafia niggas’ names in your phone.”
“Homicide. Okay, first of all, you looking through my phone—that shit is real whack.”
“Hold up, Jasmine. On the real, I’m not one of these chump-ass niggas on the street or one of these clown-ass dudes you be fuckin’ with.”
“I didn’t say you was.”
“Shut the fuck up when I’m talking!” Homicide shouted. He had a real short fuse, and Jasmine had not been in his life to know that. But immediately he had her respect.
“I’m sorry.”
“What I’m saying is, I’m up in here laying up in your shit with no burner or nothing. Anybody could walk up in this muthafuckin’ apartment and start blasting. You know what I’m saying? Especially them Ghetto Mafia niggas. Them niggas don’t fuck with me, and I don’t fuck with them.”
The liquor she had been drinking had just about totally worn off, and Homicide was helping her come to her senses. She realized how stupid she had been to let him fuck her that easily.
“Homicide, this is my apartment, and if I bring you here, you’re good. I mean, yeah, did I fuck with them Ghetto Mafia niggas? Yes, I did. And I thought I told you that before we left Madison Square Garden that I was fuckin’ with Nico. Would I be so stupid to bring you up in here and risk my own ass getting killed? No, I wouldn’t be that stupid. You’re good here.”
Homicide understood Jasmine’s reasoning, but his primary occupation was setting up drug dealers to get robbed, so he always saw things from a different lens. To him everything was a conspiracy or had the potential for a setup.
Homicide kissed Jasmine on the lips. “I’m out.”
At that point Jasmine was wondering if she had just blown her assignment. “Okay, but I really want to see you again.”
Jasmine knew how to make herself cry at the drop of a hat, and at that moment she called up some tears to her eyes. They didn’t roll down her cheeks, but her eyes were visibly starting to water up.
“You got my number. Hit me up,” Homicide replied.
Jasmine stopped him at the front door and prevented him from leaving. “I don’t want to just be a fuckin’ booty call.”
A smirk came across Homicide’s face.
“So you out just like that?” Jasmine asked.
Homicide nodded his head and told Jasmine once again to just hit him up, and after that he opened the door and made his way out of her apartment and out of the building.
Homicide was far from the lovey-dovey, cuddling-in-the-bed type of dude. He had fucked Jasmine and was good from that standpoint. Jasmine didn’t know he could sense that she was an emotionally needy chick that he was going to use to his benefit
if he could.
