Tales from Da Hood

Big Daddy Penned by Seven, but lived by many One It's a slow night, not too many cars cruising up and down Second and Broad for a Friday. This is partly due to the fact that NASCAR is at Richmond International Speedway, and most of my clients are old white men who enjoy that type of shit. I'm slowly losing my patience with Vanessa; the bitch is walking at a slow, nonchalant pace instead of strutting her phat ass up and down the block like I've taught her to do. I'm standing with my back and one foot up against the wall by Eggleston's Restaurant, thinking about how badly I'm gonna choke the shit out of her if she don't make me at least $300 tonight. Tonight the stakes are raised because business has been slow due to the races: I'm charging $40 for blowjobs, $50 for ass licks, and $125 for the total package. Golden showers are going for $30 'cause Nessa's piss makes a nigga ass feel warm and fuzzy. Twenty minutes ago I made up my mind that I wasn't gonna give her tired walking ass anything. Can you believe it? The bitch had the audacity to turn down a trick because he was Mexican. Talking about she could smell bean burritos and shit on his breath. I punched the bitch hard enough to frazzle her, but not hard enough to bruise hercouldn't chance having my moneymaker look tore up. I told her ass I didn't give a fuck if she smelt dog shit on his breath, she better had fucked and sucked his dick until the mutherfucker couldn't come any longer. This lazy-ass ho of mine ain't getting shit, not one copper penny tonight. She's lucky if I still take her ass to get her wig smoked, but it wouldn't benefit me if I don't. There's money out here to be made, and I got to keep my bitch looking good at all times. Right now, I've got to go remind this trick bitch who's in charge. "Bitch, you better pull that goddamn skirt up over your ass and stop these mutherfucking cars out here. You think I'm fucking playing with you?" I get up close and personal in the bitch's ear, like she is deaf or something, but she needs to hear loud and clear that I'm not on joke time. "Daddy, I'm tired, my feet are hurting and so is my back. I told you not to buy these cheap-ass shoes from Payless," Nessa cries, as she stands with one hand on her hip while the other hand holds her strappy patent leather $9.99 buy-one-get-one-free high-heeled hooker shoe. "Bitch, don't you ever back-talk me," I say, raising my hand like I'm gonna backhand her ass. "I'll buy you whatever the fuck I want your ass to have. I run this show. You will wear, eat, say, and do whatever the hell I say. Is that understood, bitch?" I scream at her as I jack her ass up by the collar of her shirt. It suddenly dawns on me: What the fuck is she doing wearing an oxford shirt in fucking July? I let go of her shirt and stand back to get a better view of her attire. Then I realize the bitch don't look like a hooker. Her ass is out on the ho stroll looking like a goddamn Sunday school teacher. I grab the ho by her hair weave, yanking her to my chest. She cries, pleading, "Daddy, let go of me, please, Daddy, don't do this." She covers her head with her hand 'cause she knows I am about to go upside it. Man, I am mad as hell. Here it is hotter than the Fourth of July and this bitch is on the ho stroll in a mutherfucking long sleeve, pink oxford shirt, revealing absolutely no cleavage. I smack the bitch so hard, she falls to the ground. I stomp herTurner, Nikki is the author of 'Tales from Da Hood ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780345484017 and ISBN 0345484010.