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“Let me go get it for you,” she said, handin’ me my room key, and the printout to sign. “You’re in room 302.” I smiled to myself, knowin’ my mark’s r
oom was right ’cross the hall from me. I never figured out how Cash always managed to know exactly what rooms these marks were in, but he did. The nigga had connects all over the country, in almost every type of industry. A muhfucka with that kinda power was not only dangerous, but it made my clit pulse, real talk. And I knew that the thing that kept me from fuckin’ Cash was the fact that his ass was gorilla ugly. Otherwise I’d probably been had his dick in my throat. She came back with a small brown box. “Here you go,” she said, handin’ it to me.
“Thanks,” I replied, gatherin’ my things to bounce.
“Enjoy your stay.”
“I’m sure I will.” I walked off toward the elevator.
Once I was inside my room, I dropped my shit on the bed, stripped off my wears, then headed to the bathroom to run the shower. I wanted to get showered and chill for a minute before it was time to tap on my mark’s door to bring him room service—pussy and a bullet.
I decided to wait ’til ’round eleven to make my way ’cross the hall to his room. I had already changed up my look by skillfully puttin’ in my Especially Yours light-auburn Bohemian clip-in extensions wig, then puttin’ in a pair of contact lenses. The look was cute. Knowin’ how to rock a wig and beat this face really helped to keep my look fresh, and keep muhfuckas from identifyin’ me if shit got messy. I removed the hotel towel from ’round my body, then pulled out a handmade feathered flower from its satin pouch and dusted my body with Kama Sutra Honey Dust, Sweet Honeysuckle. Humph. I loved that shit. It conditioned the skin, leavin’ it silky smooth and glowin’. And it kept a nigga wantin’ to kiss all over ya body. Then I slipped into a breezy, multi-colored, abstract print Issa London kimono dress with plungin’ V neckline. The shit was sexy as hell. And for the grand finale, I slipped my feet into a pair of four-inch Gucci Page pumps, then tossed my gun into my large white Michael Kors Beverly Python drawstring satchel. I peeked outta the door e’ery so often to make sure there was no one wanderin’ the halls. When the coast was clear, I made my way to my mark’s door and gently knocked.
My target for the night was a tall, thin but nicely chiseled, brown-skinned, B-ball-type nigga. He had a neatly trimmed mustache, goatee, and low-cut fade with thick eyebrows. He was thirty-one and recently married. Although I was ’bout to make his wife a widow, I was glad the nigga didn’t have any children. I always hated havin’ to body muhfuckas who had kids; I was robbin’ them of havin’ a father in their life. Oh well…life goes on!
For some reason, e’ery time I was ’bout to earth a nigga, I stressed ’bout havin’ to go into plan B, in case a muhfucka wasn’t beat for pussy, or I just couldn’t get at ’im the way I wanted. The whole idea of havin’ to squat somewhere in a tinted-out car, or be crouched down low, hidin’ in bushes with a night-scope on my gun, waitin’ to take a shot at a muhfucka, did not appeal to a freaky bitch like me. And I damn sure didn’t wanna haveta flat-out shoot the nigga up without ridin’ down on his dick first.
When there was no answer, I took a deep breath and knocked again. Although I heard the TV on, I knew that didn’t mean his ass was in the room. I knocked again. And smiled when I heard a voice on the other side.
“Just a minute,” the deep voice said. I heard the chain latch slidin’, then the door opened. Humph, this nigga was fine. He stood in the doorway wearin’ a white wife beater and some navy blue basketball shorts. “Can I help you?”
I scanned his body real slow and easy, startin’ from his feet and calves, to his thighs, then the center of his crotch, to his chiseled chest and finally into his eyes. I smiled. “Oooh, I’m sorry,” I said, standin’ with my back straight, my chest out showin’ cleavage for days, and my left leg forward, givin’ him my best model stance while my satchel hung in the crook of my right arm. “I’m lookin’ for Anthony.”
My nipples were hard from the light brush of the fabric against ’em. And it was makin’ me horny. He tried hard to keep his focus on my eyes and not my titties. I smiled to myself when he glanced at ’em. “Sorry, beautiful, no one by that name is here.”
I acted like I was confused. “This is room 321, right?”
He looked at the room number on the door. “Sure is, but no Anthony is staying here.”
I had already spent two minutes in the hallway with him and was startin’ to get antsy. I needed to get inside his room, and quick, before someone came out. I sucked my teeth, actin’ like I was upset. “Oh, shit. I can’t believe I done drove all the way down here, and this fool done gave me the wrong information. Well, I’m sorry for disturbin’ you.”
He smiled. “It’s cool; you weren’t disturbing me. I was just watching TV.”
Okay, bitch, you need to hurry up and get into this nigga’s room, I thought to myself, glancin’ at my timepiece. “You mean to tell me a nice-lookin’ brotha like you is all holed up in this room solo? Now, that’s a crime.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, it is what it is. I’m outta this piece in the mornin’ so it’s all good.”
“Well, let me get goin’. I guess I gotta go find out where this fool is. You enjoy the rest of ya night.”
“You, too,” he said, lickin’ his lips. “Sorry I couldn’t help you.”
I smiled, preparin’ to walk off. “If I can’t track my friend down, who knows…maybe you can.”
“Hell,” he said, smilin’, “if it makes you feel better, I can pretend to be him if you’d like.”
“You know what,” I said, turnin’ around, “do you mind if I come in for a minute before I decide what I wanna do?”
He opened the door wider, and smiled, steppin’ back. “Not at all.” He spread his arm out, invitin’ me into his space. I smiled as I lightly brushed past him, throwin’ an extra shake in my ass. I silently blew out a sigh, relieved that I’d gotten up in his room. I glanced at my watch again. It took me four minutes to get in. “Here, have a seat,” he said, removin’ his clothes from outta one of the chairs. He had shit e’erywhere. Clothes, footwear, and newspapers were tossed all over the place.
“You mind if I use ya bathroom?”
“No, help ya’self.”
I went into the bathroom and shut the door. This nigga was a damn slob. Humph, I thought, frownin’. I’ma be doin’ his wife a big-ass favor. Hell, if these niggas he fucked over wasn’t tryna earth his nasty ass, it would only be a matter of time before his wife wanted him bodied. He had wet towels on the floor, and the nasty muhfucka had piss still in the toilet—and it was dark enough to look like he had pissed a few times without flushin’. I rolled my eyes, and flushed the toilet like I was gettin’ ready to use it. I flipped open my cell and called Cash, whisperin’ into the phone to let him know what was what, then I called my house and started spazzin’ like I was really talkin’ to somebody named Anthony. I talked loud enough so dude could hear bits ’n pieces of what I was sayin’, if he was eavesdroppin’, which I knew he probably was.
When I was finished, I flushed the toilet again, then ran the water and washed my hands and dried ’em with some tissue. I smiled at myself in the mirror, then walked back out into the room. Dude was sittin’ on the edge of the bed, leanin’ back on his forearms. I peeped the slight lump in his shorts as I walked by, and licked my lips.
“So where you from?” he asked.
