One The Hard Way by Tia Ja’nae

Junie Walters calmly lit his cigar as Emerson and Daniels ransacked his place.  He’d been expecting the detectives since word hit the street bad batches of synthetic marijuana were killing off potential customers.  Stumbling into his stockpile of solvents did little to break his cool. There were no warrants and no definitive proof he’d expanded his operations into that territory.

Still, it was too good of an opportunity for the flatfoots not to hassle him for more payoffs under the cover of good police work.  Dirty cops were like rodents to him, thirsting for the last crumb they thought could be had. No matter how much they got off the top, they always made pests of themselves for more handouts.

“Nice collection of acetone you got here.” Emerson said coyishly.

“Care to catch us up on your new side action?” Daniels asked sarcastically.

“Give me a break.  The economic downturn has forced me to explore legitimate markets with nail salons.” Junie said smugly.  “Finger polish remover is where it’s at.”

“And here I thought all these chemicals were for cooking up spice.  Silly me.” Daniels said with an attitude.

“What would a law-abiding citizen like me know about that?” Junie asked smiling.

“As much as you know about the three teens who kicked the bucket from smoking that shit.  Ring a bell?” Emerson said, punching his finger into Junie’s chest.

“I might have heard something about that in passing, but I don’t slum with Chicago’s hypes for information like the taxpayers pay you to do.” Junie smirked.

Junie never saw the blows coming.  Emerson and Daniels showed no mercy working him over, or threatening to burn his face with his own cigar.  They wanted in on half of his action or were going to bring heat on his operations. Junie held out on the deal until the detectives put the cigar out on his nose as if it were their personal ashtray.  Only then was he accepting of their proposal and their humiliation.

“Consider that a reminder that white lives matter.  One of those victims was my son’s best friend. It’s plenty of savages in your backyard begging to get hooked.  Last thing people busting their rump like us need are your kind on our side of town robbing our kids of their future.” Daniels said, angrily spitting on him.

“Funny how you ain’t worried about color getting your piece of the pie.”

Junie knew his words cut deep but the pain in his face made him care less.  Enraged, the detectives destroyed everything in their grasp like wild animals.  The truth might hurt, but was a nice distraction to record them on his phone without detection.

“We’ll be by early to pick up the cash with interest.” Emerson piped out of breath.  “Now go clean your black ass up. There’s money to be made and you’re wasting time.”

“You should listen to him.  That thing might get infected.  Laying up in the hospital on vacation could be hazardous to your health.” Daniels said, patting him on the head.

Finally, they split, leaving Junie one hell of a mess to clean up.

Once he was sure they were gone, he lit another cigar, savoring the billowing smoke as he dialed Agent Jackson and played select parts of the recording for him over the phone.  He hated snitching; it was against his moral code but impossible to avoid. Junie felt it was only a matter of time before the greedy flatfoots sent him upstate once they milked every penny from him.  He couldn’t let that happen.

Nor could the ATF.  They were more than happy to offer full immunity for turning them over state’s evidence on dirty cops.  While circumstantial at best, the devil in the details would pin everything on their shoulders. Shaking him down was the icing on the cake to make the bust.  Feds never used facts for collars, just fictions to make villains of the innocent. The pound of spice he had planted in their squad car would seal their fate, getting them out his pockets for good.

Junie grinned painfully from ear to ear.  Emerson and Daniels were finally going to get one the hard way.

Diggin’ the Scene by Tia Ja’nae

Panky is strutting around the track like a peacock!

Outside of a few white hairs, a thirty-year bid ain’t changed him a bit.  Just like old times watching him hold court, even if nobody listening.  Game just ain’t what it was in our prime.  Macks ain’t got no ambition!  Looking raggedy.  Carrying on with bitches who ain’t clean.  Out here Chevroletin’ it – shoving one foot and laying the other like its hip.

My man Panky, he always had class.

Finest cars on the avenue.  Baddest bitches in the stable.  Plenty of high fashion on the scene.  The name carried weight in the street.  Then he caught that case.  Trifling bitches jumped ship soon as word came down Panky wasn’t getting out of it.  A good hoe knows to go automatic when her man gets pinched.  Serves them right the macks they chose busted their asses to the gums.  Some caught cases.  Some went to the grave.  Some found Jesus.

Not me.  I waded in the water holding out for my man.

It was tough times being an outlaw but I was glad to take the lumps.  Ain’t no other mack walked this earth holding a candle to Panky!  As long as breath is in this body he won’t ever have to look over his shoulder.  I feel bad I only laid a hundred thou in his hand when he walked through them gates.  Should have been more.  We young still.  Got plenty time to play catch up.  Might be snow on top but a good hoe keeps a fire burning in the chimney.

A good stroke these days ain’t all we need to get back on top.  Panky seeing that first hand pulling prospects.  Young bitches ain’t got no respect when a mack pulls their coat.  Their man let them talk out the side of their neck and treat him like they ain’t shit.  Might even fight him!  Most times it’s hard telling who’s the pimp and who’s the hoe on the track.  Nobody taking care of business because they not staying true to the game!

Hoes ain’t getting grips up front.  Macks looking for love and wives.  Disgraceful!  What makes it so bad is the tricks.  Cheap bastards don’t want to pay no more, like they supposed to get a five-finger discount on checkout.  The nerve!  Internet got folks feeling entitled for free service.  Oh, and them ladyboys.  Worst type of hoe to walk the track.  Tricking ain’t ever gave nobody a pussy.  Proudly undercutting the standard rate ain’t ever set hoes on easy street either.

That young thoroughbred Panky talking to over in the corner just might be a good hoe.  Might need a little seasoning to iron out them cornbread edges first though.  Them types turn tricks way too long thinking they doing the most.  Ain’t even walking away with a wet trap.  One slap and they acting like they bleeding to death.  A good hoe knows how to give pleasure and take a lot of pain.  Might take some time, but Panky break her in right, she’d be a good earner.

I’d call it quits after that philly, but my man got to see for himself what’s what out here.  It’s rare finding bitches on the track barely doing the one thing they supposed to be good at.  That load from these tricks ain’t gonna bust itself, or didn’t they know that?  The goal is to make tricks come by any hole, not lay up and play sex doll all night.  These ladies of leisure making it hard for honest hoes like me to get an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work.

Bought time I start hitting the track.  Panky will be needing some more ice around his hands and silk around his skin.  Can’t have my man out here in cheap shit.  Whatever he wants this pussy can get for him.  These legs are a portable ATM.  Open twenty-four hours and taking deposits.

I’m a bottom bitch that knows how to bring my man his money.