Thugs are for Fun 3 The Final Chapter Book Excerpt Urban Fiction


*Thugs are for Fun Part 3* by J.Gail Copyright Ó 2008 J.Gail. All rights reserved. Excerpt Chapter 2 I Need That Timbo turned his car sharply onto Market Street. He had to maneuver around the construction under the El train tracks that had still sat unfinished since they began over five years before. He pulled into a spot as close to the sports bar on 56^th street as he could get. The front of his car grille almost grazed the construction fence. He leaned forward to turn off the car and then sat back, stone silent for a few moments. He thought about the fact that he barely had $100 in his pocket at that moment, and was about to meet with this fine new college honey he had met in passing for a date at the bar. She was probably inside waiting for him. This girl, Cheryl, looked like she had grown up in a well-off family. She went to UPenn, a school in the area, an Ivy league school at that. She had smooth brown skin, long luscious dark hair, her makeup was always flawless, and her nails were never undone. She was the type of girl that got everything she wanted—a black american princess for sure—and right now she wanted to go out with him. He was almost giddy at the thought. What would a girl like that want with him? He was eager to find out—maybe a little too eager. Timbo had never dated anything but chickens and gutter trash. He had finally kicked his crackhead baby's mother Yolanda out on the street a few months before, after she sold his $2,000 flat screen television to somebody for $80 and four bags of crack. This would be the first time he got the chance to date a girl with some sense and a decent upbringing. Cheryl might be his way out, the same as his best boy Rich had found with Jacy. But here he was, $100 in his pocket and a high maintenance college chick waiting for him to buy her some drinks. She was bound to be one of those girls that drank apple martinis and grand marniers. Timbo felt like people were playing him on the streets, now that Rich was no longer his running buddy. Rich had been his backup, his enforcer. Nobody played with Timbo's money in the past because they knew Rich would be somewhere in the picture soon. It wasn’t just about muscle—people respected Rich and didn’t want to disappoint him. As soon as Rich left the game, Timbo’s consignments started getting paid later and later, the young boys were treating him with disrespect and doing a good job of dodging him, and people were even having the nerve to ask for a better rate. Now, Timbo had so many people owing him money that he had lost track. He felt that he was going to have to do something drastic soon to send a message out on the streets that he wasn't playing; something like popping somebody. But he didn't feel like he had a good backing; the four or five dudes that he ran with on a regular basis didn't have the balls or heart to shoot anybody for real. Timbo had never had less than a G in his pocket at any given time. Most people would think $100 was plenty for a date, but Timbo liked to have enough to really ball. He was trying to impress this girl and throw some money around—how was he going to do that with less than a bean? His 'wack' was light like a mug! He was used to pulling out a tight wad of money on a first date—that was how real Philly ballers did it. He considered calling Cheryl up and making an excuse about having some business to handle. Then he could take her out at a time he had more cash. But then Timbo thought of how her brown legs had looked in those tan khaki short shorts, with the high-heeled wooden sandals the first time he saw her walking down Walnut. She was fine as shit. That same girl was sitting in the bar waiting on him—there was no way he was letting that possibly slip through his fingers. Then he remembered that she was a college girl sitting alone in a bar full of sharks, and quickly pulled the lever on his car door. With a vision of her legs planted firmly in his mind, he stepped out of the car with a smile on his lips. He was just going to have to “make do” money-wise and use his head. Timbo took a moment to check himself in his car window. He had on a clean monogrammed black tee and a diamond “T” chain he bought down on Jeweler's Row. He even shaved his normally rough beard down to something presentable. He didn't look too shabby. “Here we go,” he said after doing a tooth check. Timbo might not have been the best looking brother in West Philly, but one thing he prided himself on was good dental hygiene. He brushed his teeth about five times a day—in the morning, after every meal, and before he went to bed. It was an obsession for him that had paid off. He was going to let his pearly whites do most of the talking tonight. He burrowed his eyebrows and strolled up to the front door of the sports bar. When he walked inside he looked around, trying not to seem eager. He didn't see her yet. “I thought she said she was already here,” he mumbled to himself as he sat down at the bar and pulled out his cellphone to check the text message again. Just as he was pressing some buttons he looked out of the corner of his eye and saw her coming out of the bathroom. His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She was wearing a simple, white, long-sleeved shirt that was snug and showed off her round C cup breasts along with a pair of hip-hugging jeans. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a curly style. He let his eyes travel down to the floor where he saw her perfectly pedicured toes peaking out of her Jimmy Choo open-toed sandals. “Hi,” she said as she slid onto the bar stool next to him, a radiant smile on her face. Her eyes were slightly slitted as if she had just been smoking some good weed. Timbo was extremely turned on at the thought that she might be down with a session. “Sup,” he said with a cute smirk as he looked her up and down. It was a struggle to remove his vision from the sliver of skin visible on her back between her shirt and jeans when the bartender came over to take his order. “Umm, let me get a Heiny,” he said and then turned back to Cheryl. “What you want baby?” “I want another double shot of 3 Olives and cranberry,” she said directly to the bartender in a smooth velvety voice that made Timbo's manhood stand at attention. She had a slight accent that he couldn’t make out just yet. He scooted his chair up closer to the bar. He wasn't sure how to act around this girl; he didn't want to come off as too ghetto and scare her away. “You was waiting long?” he asked, trying to play off the fact that he was very impressed. He didn't even need to look around—he knew every brother in that bar's eyes were on them. A jealous thought flashed through his mind—what if he had left her alone in the bar too long? His mind swam with the possibility of her talking to some other dude in the bar before he arrived. “Uhh, a little. But that's alright I guess,” she said blankly as she took her drink and started sipping. Her smile had disappeared. Timbo started to worry that she wasn't having a good time. He would have to turn on the charm somehow. Timbo had been shot at, stabbed, and gotten into so many fights that he lost count, but never had his heart beat so fast. There was so much at stake on this date. He had to have this woman. “Aww fuck it. I ain't even gonna try to play it off no more,” Timbo said as he turned and grabbed her stool to pull her close and straddle her. He pulled at his hat, a nervous habit of his. “You fine as shit. Damn slimmy. I ain't even gonna lie.” Cheryl finally giggled and Timbo was relieved to see that smile return. “You're cute,” she said. “Aw, that's all? Just cute?” Timbo flashed a smile at her. “I put my best shit on for you girl. Damn. You got some pretty brown eyes.” “Thank you,” Cheryl giggled again. She was loving the attention. She was the type of girl who needed to be complimented regularly. And she needed a man that could really take control. That's what attracted her to Timbo in the first place—the fact that he came right up to her and asked for her number. It was something about his gangster swagger that turned her on and had her daydreaming the rest of the day that they met about being alone with him. “You don't talk much do ya? You shy?” Timbo observed. “Not really,” she said with a smile. But Timbo didn't know which question she was answering. “So what you doing out here in the 'hood with me?” Timbo moved in closer to her to get a deeper whiff of her perfume. Now Cheryl's heart was beating faster. “Why, should I be concerned?” Cheryl asked with a smirk. Timbo chuckled. “Naw, you ain't got nothing to worry about babe. Not when you with me.” “Okay,” she smiled. “Where you from?” “Missouri.” Timbo soon realized that Cheryl really was a woman of very little words, and he quickly adjusted. That was fine with him. For all he cared, she could be completely silent and just look good all day. And now he knew where that accent was from. His chest puffed out a little when he saw the level of attention and respect he was getting at the bar just by being seen with a woman of her caliber. Dudes he hadn't said two words to for weeks were coming up to him to say “what's up” and give him a pound. Timbo knew the only reason why they were doing that was to get a closer look at the new eye candy at the bar. By the time Timbo and Cheryl left the bar they were both toasted. Just as Timbo thought, Cheryl's drinks were expensive, but she only needed like three expensive drinks and a couple of beers to get tossed, so he was good. Her tongue loosened up a little more with each drink. “Where do you live?” Cheryl asked him when they were both outside. Timbo was grasping onto her hand as if she could fly away at any moment. When he heard her question he had an adrenaline rush. He was definitely going to get some that night. “Not far from here, like three blocks,” he turned to her and looked in her eyes. “I want to come over,” she slurred, but was serious as a heart attack. “Can I just follow you?” “Yea, yea. Hold up a sec though,” Timbo said as he spotted somebody he had been seeking out for weeks down the block. “Go in your car and lock the door. I'll be right back.” Cheryl did as she was told, but not before glancing down the block in the direction where Timbo went. She locked her door and watched him in her rear view mirror. She involuntarily held onto her heart. Timbo crept up in the darkness on Jimmy and Tools, who were standing around on the corner smoking a blunt. They were so high that they didn't even realize who Timbo was at first. “Aw, shit,” Tools mumbled to himself when he recognized the face. “Damn, you got any cash on you ock? You know I’ll get you back.” “Whateva nigga, that's yo problem,” Jimmy said with his mouth turned up as if to say “yea right.” He was just happy that for once it wasn't him that owed somebody. “Tools! What up nigga,” Timbo greeted him with a frown. This was one of those times that he would have to put his foot down. Tools owed him over $500 at that point. Timbo glanced across the street and saw some other brothers who looked familiar watching his every move. Timbo offered out his hand to Tools to shake. Tools took it and gave Timbo a hard manshake and chest bump. Tools' mind was going a mile a minute. “You know I been on ya tail Tools, so what the deal? You just dodgin’ niggas now huh,” Timbo said and shook his head. “Naw, it ain't even like that Bo, I was gonna yell at you,” Tools started shucking and jiving. “I just needed a lil more time, yah mean?” Timbo turned his nose up at Tools, never taking his eyes off of him. “Now nigga, you know I ain't even trynna hear all that noise. It’s been damn near three months and I want my shit. Is y’all niggas trynna treat me like some kind of sucka cuz Rich ain't here? Bet that nigga will be here if I need 'im. If he here or not though, you gonna make good right now or we got a problem ock.” Tools sucked his teeth and shuffled his feet nervously as he saw that all too familiar look in Timbo’s eyes that said he wasn’t playing. “Aww, come on Timbo. I just need a couple weeks, like three tops! Come on man.” Timbo licked his front teeth and glanced around carefully. Jimmy started backing away from the scene because he could feel that this wasn't going to end right. Tools got ready to take off himself. Just as Timbo pulled his gun out from his waist, Tools took off running across the street. “Come back here, bitch ass mufucka!” Timbo shouted. But Tools didn't get very far. Pop! Pop! Timbo stood in shock as one of the figures who had been standing across the street shot Tools twice—Tools dropped like a dummy doll. He ran right into the shots. Timbo now saw the face of the guy who shot his gun clear as day. It was Coot, a young brother from North Philly who had just recently started staying down in West Philly. He was about 20. From what Timbo had been told, Coot was on the run for a murder/robbery. It was somebody who really mattered to the community. Timbo had talked to Coot a couple of times in passing but always kept it moving because Coot seemed a little “off.” And now he had just shot the shit out of Tools. Tools lay on the ground with a pool of blood starting to form around his chest. Coot returned his gun to the back of his jeans and nodded at Timbo as if to say “Got that muthafucka.” Timbo wasn’t about to stick around to find out why, how, or what. The gunshots had sobered him up and he turned to head back towards his car. Timbo had three or four warrants out in his name, he wasn't about to be caught at a murder scene. To his surprise, Coot yelled after him, but he kept it moving, trying to play it cool. He didn't see Cheryl's head in her car, so he knocked on the window to see what had happened. She popped her head back up with a terrified look on her face. Timbo gestured for her to start her car, then jumped in his own car and motioned to Cheryl out the window to follow him. She did so without a second thought, staying low in her seat as she drove. * * * Timbo led Cheryl to his house and showed her where she could park down the street and around the corner. His baby's mother Yolanda had a habit of showing up unannounced when she was on one of her “missions,” so he didn't want her knowing he had a new girl over there, especially not a girl like Cheryl. Yolanda knew every car on the block and would surely take a pipe to Cheryl's nice car if Timbo didn’t let Yolanda in and she realized what was going on. Once Cheryl had her car parked, he leaned over and opened the passenger seat door for her to get in and drive her back to the house. When Cheryl got in the car she brought a light, airy aura with her that Timbo absolutely loved. He closed his eyes for a split second and took in the feeling. “What happened back there?” Cheryl wasn't smiling. She had half considered peeling off without Timbo when she heard the gunshots, but was so scared that all she could do was duck down in her seat. Another part of her was extremely turned on by the danger of witnessing gun shots ringing out less than a block away. She hadn’t actually seen Tools get shot, but she had definitely heard the shots. Timbo broke out of his trance and looked over at Cheryl. Her eyeballs were wide as saucers. He reached out and caressed her hair to calm her down. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t know why Coot shot Tools, but Tools deserved what he got. He was dirty brother who was always messing with other peoples’ money. He probably owed Coot something. Good riddance. Timbo thought. “Nothin' baby, don't worry about that shit,” he assured her and pulled around the corner. Cheryl knew one thing for sure; something had happened. She had heard those gunshots clear as day. It was the first time she had heard them in person instead of on TV. But the way Timbo shrugged it off and told her not to fret eased her mind. She felt that whatever had happened, he had it under control. After all, he was here wasn’t he? It must have been nothing for him, because he had already forgotten about it. He was probably around guns on a regular basis. She was growing more and more attracted to this man by the minute. When they got to his door, Timbo quickly opened the front door and let her inside, scanning the street to make sure Yolanda was no where in sight. He came in behind her and threw on the light so that she could familiarize herself with the surroundings. She looked back at him strangely, wondering why he was scanning the street. Were the people who were shooting coming after him?? Should she get out of there? A new panic fell over her, but when she looked at Timbo looking calm and dangerous all at the same time as he tossed his keys on his mail table, she quickly relaxed again. “Nice house,” Cheryl said, smiling as she walked back towards a comfy leather couch she saw. Timbo’s house may have looked like a regular danky rowhouse on the outside, but it was looking pretty nice inside. Timbo watched her hips sway from side to side as her heels clicked on his hardwood floors. She was definitely the best looking woman he had ever had in this house! “You want somethin' to drink? I got some Grey Goose… or some Henny.” “I'll just have some juice or something, I need to sober up a little,” Cheryl said with a nod as she made herself comfortable on the couch. She set her purse down and crossed her legs properly. Timbo watched her every move on his way to the kitchen. While he was getting Cheryl some juice he remembered that she had warmed up to him when he was aggressive with her. That was probably what she wanted right now. Why else would she want to come to his house after midnight? Still, he was going to play this cool. When he came back he handed her the dripping glass of juice and kicked off his shoes with his own glass of vodka and cranberry in hand. He took a big gulp and did what came naturally—laid his head back in her lap. They watched TV together for a while like that, and were temporarily distracted by an episode of Hell Date on BET. Where he lay was comfortable and relaxing him, but sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. “Tell me ‘bout your school,” Timbo started as he made himself more comfortable and flipped the channels. Cheryl didn’t answer at first—she was too busy thinking nasty thoughts and sneaking glances at the bulge forming in his pants. She loved the feeling of his deep voice vibrating through her jeans. Her excitement was growing. “There isn’t really much to tell. School is hard, but I’m doing okay.” “You said you was from Michigan right?” “Ellisville Missouri, it’s near St. Louis,” she answered. “You were born and raised in Philly right?” “Yup, my momma and my momma’s momma you know the rest. Probably since slavery, who knows,” Timbo said with a slight chuckle. “Well you know, that’s not necessarily true. Most African American families migrated up north in the 20^th century from the South,” Cheryl suddenly felt the need to drop some knowledge. “Your people most probably came up here in the 20s or 30s. You should ask your grandmother.” “Oh for real?” Timbo turned his head from the TV and looked Cheryl in the eye. “You into all that history shit huh?” Cheryl laughed. “If you wanna call it that, yea. I’m thinking about a major in Afro-American studies.” “That’s cool. Tell me more about that down south stuff.” Timbo listened to Cheryl talk about slavery, black migration patterns, and the history of black Philadelphia. She seemed very passionate about the subject, and surprisingly enough to himself, he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. He was slowly falling in love with each word that flowed out of her perfectly glossed lips. Her breath smelled good and she handled herself very well even though she had just went through about five cocktails and three beers. “You would be in the house or the field?” Timbo asked jokingly. Cheryl laughed. “Well most people joke that only the light-skinned slaves were in the house, but that wasn’t always the case. The slave masters would choose based on their ‘favorites’ or on looks. Not necessarily on skin color.” “Oh then, you definitely would be in the house over that jawn! Cause you look gooder than a mufucka,” Timbo smirked. “Damn!” Cheryl laughed. “Oh really. I love the way you talk.” “Huh?” “You know, with that ‘Philly slang.’ I love it. I’ve never heard anyone talk like that.” Timbo chuckled. “I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout?” “I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. You pronounce certain words funny, like ‘here’ and ‘damn’,” she tried to imitate him. Timbo was clueless. “You the one wit a accent. Soundin’ like Nelly ‘n shit.” Cheryl smiled. “Come here,” Timbo couldn’t wait any longer. She obeyed, still grinning, and lowered her face down to his lips. He quivered when he felt her lips touch his. They were plump, lickable, and delicious. He sucked on her top lip as if it were a Jolly Rancher, and Cheryl felt a rush of fluids down below. She shoved her tongue down his throat and sent chills down Timbo’s back. All the “gentleman” left him right then. He sat up and turned around in the same motion, grabbing Cheryl by her hips to get her to lay down. On top, he took full control as he kissed her hard on the lips. He pulled her shirt up over her head roughly, causing it to rip slightly, and ravished her on the couch. He sucked, licked, and kissed every inch of her body, paying plenty of attention to her fleshy, perfectly-sized breasts. Cheryl moaned and cooed, loving every moment. “What do you want me to do?” Cheryl asked suddenly. “Tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do anything you want.” Timbo was kissing her neck and unbuttoning her pants when she said that. He slowed down a bit. In response, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his jet black, rock hard manhood. Cheryl knew exactly what to do. She got on her knees next to the couch and went to work. Timbo’s eyes rolled up in his head as he moaned in pleasure. That night they were doing it for so long in Timbo’s bedroom that the sun actually came up before they were done. Timbo was knocked out on his bed within a few minutes, and thought that Cheryl had done the same, but not so. She actually snuck out of the bed a few minutes later and did a search for her panties. She looked everywhere—by the couch, in the hall, under the bed, and in the sheets as much as she could without disturbing Timbo, but was unsuccessful. She left without making a sound and made the short trek to her car in the darkness, checking over her shoulder every three seconds.

Thugs are for Fun Part 3 by J.Gail

Excerpt

Chapter 2

I Need That

Timbo turned his car sharply onto Market Street. He had to maneuver around the construction under the El train tracks that had still sat unfinished since they began over five years before. He pulled into a spot as close to the sports bar on 56^th street as he could get. The front of his car grille almost grazed the construction fence.

He leaned forward to turn off the car and then sat back, stone silent for a few moments. He thought about the fact that he barely had $100 in his pocket at that moment, and was about to meet with this fine new college honey he had met in passing for a date at the bar. She was probably inside waiting for him.

This girl, Cheryl, looked like she had grown up in a well-off family. She went to UPenn, a school in the area, an Ivy league school at that. She had smooth brown skin, long luscious dark hair, her makeup was always flawless, and her nails were never undone. She was the type of girl that got everything she wanted—a black american princess for sure—and right now she wanted to go out with him. He was almost giddy at the thought. What would a girl like that want with him? He was eager to find out—maybe a little too eager.

Timbo had never dated anything but chickens and gutter trash. He had finally kicked his crackhead baby's mother Yolanda out on the street a few months before, after she sold his $2,000 flat screen television to somebody for $80 and four bags of crack.

This would be the first time he got the chance to date a girl with some sense and a decent upbringing. Cheryl might be his way out, the same as his best boy Rich had found with Jacy.

But here he was, $100 in his pocket and a high maintenance college chick waiting for him to buy her some drinks. She was bound to be one of those girls that drank apple martinis and grand marniers.

Timbo felt like people were playing him on the streets, now that Rich was no longer his running buddy. Rich had been his backup, his enforcer. Nobody played with Timbo's money in the past because they knew Rich would be somewhere in the picture soon. It wasn’t just about muscle—people respected Rich and didn’t want to disappoint him.

As soon as Rich left the game, Timbo’s consignments started getting paid later and later, the young boys were treating him with disrespect and doing a good job of dodging him, and people were even having the nerve to ask for a better rate. Now, Timbo had so many people owing him money that he had lost track. He felt that he was going to have to do something drastic soon to send a message out on the streets that he wasn't playing; something like popping somebody. But he didn't feel like he had a good backing; the four or five dudes that he ran with on a regular basis didn't have the balls or heart to shoot anybody for real.

Timbo had never had less than a G in his pocket at any given time. Most people would think $100 was plenty for a date, but Timbo liked to have enough to really ball. He was trying to impress this girl and throw some money around—how was he going to do that with less than a bean? His 'wack' was light like a mug! He was used to pulling out a tight wad of money on a first date—that was how real Philly ballers did it. He considered calling Cheryl up and making an excuse about having some business to handle. Then he could take her out at a time he had more cash.

But then Timbo thought of how her brown legs had looked in those tan khaki short shorts, with the high-heeled wooden sandals the first time he saw her walking down Walnut. She was fine as shit. That same girl was sitting in the bar waiting on him—there was no way he was letting that possibly slip through his fingers. Then he remembered that she was a college girl sitting alone in a bar full of sharks, and quickly pulled the lever on his car door.

With a vision of her legs planted firmly in his mind, he stepped out of the car with a smile on his lips. He was just going to have to “make do” money-wise and use his head.

Timbo took a moment to check himself in his car window. He had on a clean monogrammed black tee and a diamond “T” chain he bought down on Jeweler's Row. He even shaved his normally rough beard down to something presentable. He didn't look too shabby.

“Here we go,” he said after doing a tooth check. Timbo might not have been the best looking brother in West Philly, but one thing he prided himself on was good dental hygiene. He brushed his teeth about five times a day—in the morning, after every meal, and before he went to bed. It was an obsession for him that had paid off. He was going to let his pearly whites do most of the talking tonight.

He burrowed his eyebrows and strolled up to the front door of the sports bar. When he walked inside he looked around, trying not to seem eager. He didn't see her yet.

“I thought she said she was already here,” he mumbled to himself as he sat down at the bar and pulled out his cellphone to check the text message again. Just as he was pressing some buttons he looked out of the corner of his eye and saw her coming out of the bathroom. His jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

She was wearing a simple, white, long-sleeved shirt that was snug and showed off her round C cup breasts along with a pair of hip-hugging jeans. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a curly style. He let his eyes travel down to the floor where he saw her perfectly pedicured toes peaking out of her Jimmy Choo open-toed sandals.

“Hi,” she said as she slid onto the bar stool next to him, a radiant smile on her face. Her eyes were slightly slitted as if she had just been smoking some good weed. Timbo was extremely turned on at the thought that she might be down with a session.

“Sup,” he said with a cute smirk as he looked her up and down. It was a struggle to remove his vision from the sliver of skin visible on her back between her shirt and jeans when the bartender came over to take his order.

“Umm, let me get a Heiny,” he said and then turned back to Cheryl. “What you want baby?”

“I want another double shot of 3 Olives and cranberry,” she said directly to the bartender in a smooth velvety voice that made Timbo's manhood stand at attention. She had a slight accent that he couldn’t make out just yet. He scooted his chair up closer to the bar. He wasn't sure how to act around this girl; he didn't want to come off as too ghetto and scare her away.

“You was waiting long?” he asked, trying to play off the fact that he was very impressed. He didn't even need to look around—he knew every brother in that bar's eyes were on them. A jealous thought flashed through his mind—what if he had left her alone in the bar too long? His mind swam with the possibility of her talking to some other dude in the bar before he arrived.

“Uhh, a little. But that's alright I guess,” she said blankly as she took her drink and started sipping. Her smile had disappeared. Timbo started to worry that she wasn't having a good time. He would have to turn on the charm somehow. Timbo had been shot at, stabbed, and gotten into so many fights that he lost count, but never had his heart beat so fast. There was so much at stake on this date. He had to have this woman.

“Aww fuck it. I ain't even gonna try to play it off no more,” Timbo said as he turned and grabbed her stool to pull her close and straddle her. He pulled at his hat, a nervous habit of his. “You fine as shit. Damn slimmy. I ain't even gonna lie.”

Cheryl finally giggled and Timbo was relieved to see that smile return. “You're cute,” she said.

“Aw, that's all? Just cute?” Timbo flashed a smile at her. “I put my best shit on for you girl. Damn. You got some pretty brown eyes.”

“Thank you,” Cheryl giggled again. She was loving the attention. She was the type of girl who needed to be complimented regularly. And she needed a man that could really take control. That's what attracted her to Timbo in the first place—the fact that he came right up to her and asked for her number. It was something about his gangster swagger that turned her on and had her daydreaming the rest of the day that they met about being alone with him.

“You don't talk much do ya? You shy?” Timbo observed.

“Not really,” she said with a smile. But Timbo didn't know which question she was answering.

“So what you doing out here in the 'hood with me?” Timbo moved in closer to her to get a deeper whiff of her perfume. Now Cheryl's heart was beating faster.

“Why, should I be concerned?” Cheryl asked with a smirk.

Timbo chuckled. “Naw, you ain't got nothing to worry about babe. Not when you with me.”

“Okay,” she smiled.

“Where you from?”

“Missouri.”

Timbo soon realized that Cheryl really was a woman of very little words, and he quickly adjusted. That was fine with him. For all he cared, she could be completely silent and just look good all day. And now he knew where that accent was from.

His chest puffed out a little when he saw the level of attention and respect he was getting at the bar just by being seen with a woman of her caliber. Dudes he hadn't said two words to for weeks were coming up to him to say “what's up” and give him a pound. Timbo knew the only reason why they were doing that was to get a closer look at the new eye candy at the bar.

By the time Timbo and Cheryl left the bar they were both toasted. Just as Timbo thought, Cheryl's drinks were expensive, but she only needed like three expensive drinks and a couple of beers to get tossed, so he was good. Her tongue loosened up a little more with each drink.

“Where do you live?” Cheryl asked him when they were both outside. Timbo was grasping onto her hand as if she could fly away at any moment. When he heard her question he had an adrenaline rush. He was definitely going to get some that night.

“Not far from here, like three blocks,” he turned to her and looked in her eyes.

“I want to come over,” she slurred, but was serious as a heart attack. “Can I just follow you?”

“Yea, yea. Hold up a sec though,” Timbo said as he spotted somebody he had been seeking out for weeks down the block. “Go in your car and lock the door. I'll be right back.”

Cheryl did as she was told, but not before glancing down the block in the direction where Timbo went. She locked her door and watched him in her rear view mirror. She involuntarily held onto her heart.

Timbo crept up in the darkness on Jimmy and Tools, who were standing around on the corner smoking a blunt. They were so high that they didn't even realize who Timbo was at first.

“Aw, shit,” Tools mumbled to himself when he recognized the face. “Damn, you got any cash on you ock? You know I’ll get you back.”

“Whateva nigga, that's yo problem,” Jimmy said with his mouth turned up as if to say “yea right.” He was just happy that for once it wasn't him that owed somebody.

“Tools! What up nigga,” Timbo greeted him with a frown. This was one of those times that he would have to put his foot down. Tools owed him over $500 at that point. Timbo glanced across the street and saw some other brothers who looked familiar watching his every move. Timbo offered out his hand to Tools to shake.

Tools took it and gave Timbo a hard manshake and chest bump. Tools' mind was going a mile a minute.

“You know I been on ya tail Tools, so what the deal? You just dodgin’ niggas now huh,” Timbo said and shook his head.

“Naw, it ain't even like that Bo, I was gonna yell at you,” Tools started shucking and jiving. “I just needed a lil more time, yah mean?”

Timbo turned his nose up at Tools, never taking his eyes off of him. “Now nigga, you know I ain't even trynna hear all that noise. It’s been damn near three months and I want my shit. Is y’all niggas trynna treat me like some kind of sucka cuz Rich ain't here? Bet that nigga will be here if I need 'im. If he here or not though, you gonna make good right now or we got a problem ock.”

Tools sucked his teeth and shuffled his feet nervously as he saw that all too familiar look in Timbo’s eyes that said he wasn’t playing. “Aww, come on Timbo. I just need a couple weeks, like three tops! Come on man.”

Timbo licked his front teeth and glanced around carefully. Jimmy started backing away from the scene because he could feel that this wasn't going to end right. Tools got ready to take off himself. Just as Timbo pulled his gun out from his waist, Tools took off running across the street.

“Come back here, bitch ass mufucka!” Timbo shouted. But Tools didn't get very far.

Pop! Pop!

Timbo stood in shock as one of the figures who had been standing across the street shot Tools twice—Tools dropped like a dummy doll. He ran right into the shots. Timbo now saw the face of the guy who shot his gun clear as day. It was Coot, a young brother from North Philly who had just recently started staying down in West Philly. He was about 20. From what Timbo had been told, Coot was on the run for a murder/robbery. It was somebody who really mattered to the community. Timbo had talked to Coot a couple of times in passing but always kept it moving because Coot seemed a little “off.”

And now he had just shot the shit out of Tools. Tools lay on the ground with a pool of blood starting to form around his chest. Coot returned his gun to the back of his jeans and nodded at Timbo as if to say “Got that muthafucka.”

Timbo wasn’t about to stick around to find out why, how, or what. The gunshots had sobered him up and he turned to head back towards his car. Timbo had three or four warrants out in his name, he wasn't about to be caught at a murder scene. To his surprise, Coot yelled after him, but he kept it moving, trying to play it cool. He didn't see Cheryl's head in her car, so he knocked on the window to see what had happened. She popped her head back up with a terrified look on her face. Timbo gestured for her to start her car, then jumped in his own car and motioned to Cheryl out the window to follow him. She did so without a second thought, staying low in her seat as she drove.

* * *

Timbo led Cheryl to his house and showed her where she could park down the street and around the corner. His baby's mother Yolanda had a habit of showing up unannounced when she was on one of her “missions,” so he didn't want her knowing he had a new girl over there, especially not a girl like Cheryl. Yolanda knew every car on the block and would surely take a pipe to Cheryl's nice car if Timbo didn’t let Yolanda in and she realized what was going on.

Once Cheryl had her car parked, he leaned over and opened the passenger seat door for her to get in and drive her back to the house. When Cheryl got in the car she brought a light, airy aura with her that Timbo absolutely loved. He closed his eyes for a split second and took in the feeling.

“What happened back there?” Cheryl wasn't smiling. She had half considered peeling off without Timbo when she heard the gunshots, but was so scared that all she could do was duck down in her seat. Another part of her was extremely turned on by the danger of witnessing gun shots ringing out less than a block away. She hadn’t actually seen Tools get shot, but she had definitely heard the shots.

Timbo broke out of his trance and looked over at Cheryl. Her eyeballs were wide as saucers. He reached out and caressed her hair to calm her down. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t know why Coot shot Tools, but Tools deserved what he got. He was dirty brother who was always messing with other peoples’ money. He probably owed Coot something. Good riddance. Timbo thought.

“Nothin' baby, don't worry about that shit,” he assured her and pulled around the corner.

Cheryl knew one thing for sure; something had happened. She had heard those gunshots clear as day. It was the first time she had heard them in person instead of on TV. But the way Timbo shrugged it off and told her not to fret eased her mind. She felt that whatever had happened, he had it under control. After all, he was here wasn’t he? It must have been nothing for him, because he had already forgotten about it. He was probably around guns on a regular basis. She was growing more and more attracted to this man by the minute.

When they got to his door, Timbo quickly opened the front door and let her inside, scanning the street to make sure Yolanda was no where in sight. He came in behind her and threw on the light so that she could familiarize herself with the surroundings. She looked back at him strangely, wondering why he was scanning the street. Were the people who were shooting coming after him?? Should she get out of there? A new panic fell over her, but when she looked at Timbo looking calm and dangerous all at the same time as he tossed his keys on his mail table, she quickly relaxed again.

“Nice house,” Cheryl said, smiling as she walked back towards a comfy leather couch she saw. Timbo’s house may have looked like a regular danky rowhouse on the outside, but it was looking pretty nice inside. Timbo watched her hips sway from side to side as her heels clicked on his hardwood floors. She was definitely the best looking woman he had ever had in this house!

“You want somethin' to drink? I got some Grey Goose… or some Henny.”

“I'll just have some juice or something, I need to sober up a little,” Cheryl said with a nod as she made herself comfortable on the couch. She set her purse down and crossed her legs properly. Timbo watched her every move on his way to the kitchen.

While he was getting Cheryl some juice he remembered that she had warmed up to him when he was aggressive with her. That was probably what she wanted right now. Why else would she want to come to his house after midnight? Still, he was going to play this cool.

When he came back he handed her the dripping glass of juice and kicked off his shoes with his own glass of vodka and cranberry in hand. He took a big gulp and did what came naturally—laid his head back in her lap.

They watched TV together for a while like that, and were temporarily distracted by an episode of Hell Date on BET. Where he lay was comfortable and relaxing him, but sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Tell me ‘bout your school,” Timbo started as he made himself more comfortable and flipped the channels.

Cheryl didn’t answer at first—she was too busy thinking nasty thoughts and sneaking glances at the bulge forming in his pants. She loved the feeling of his deep voice vibrating through her jeans. Her excitement was growing. “There isn’t really much to tell. School is hard, but I’m doing okay.”

“You said you was from Michigan right?”

“Ellisville Missouri, it’s near St. Louis,” she answered. “You were born and raised in Philly right?”

“Yup, my momma and my momma’s momma you know the rest. Probably since slavery, who knows,” Timbo said with a slight chuckle.

“Well you know, that’s not necessarily true. Most African American families migrated up north in the 20^th century from the South,” Cheryl suddenly felt the need to drop some knowledge. “Your people most probably came up here in the 20s or 30s. You should ask your grandmother.”

“Oh for real?” Timbo turned his head from the TV and looked Cheryl in the eye. “You into all that history shit huh?”

Cheryl laughed. “If you wanna call it that, yea. I’m thinking about a major in Afro-American studies.”

“That’s cool. Tell me more about that down south stuff.”

Timbo listened to Cheryl talk about slavery, black migration patterns, and the history of black Philadelphia. She seemed very passionate about the subject, and surprisingly enough to himself, he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. He was slowly falling in love with each word that flowed out of her perfectly glossed lips. Her breath smelled good and she handled herself very well even though she had just went through about five cocktails and three beers.

“You would be in the house or the field?” Timbo asked jokingly.

Cheryl laughed. “Well most people joke that only the light-skinned slaves were in the house, but that wasn’t always the case. The slave masters would choose based on their ‘favorites’ or on looks. Not necessarily on skin color.”

“Oh then, you definitely would be in the house over that jawn! Cause you look gooder than a mufucka,” Timbo smirked. “Damn!”

Cheryl laughed. “Oh really. I love the way you talk.”

“Huh?”

“You know, with that ‘Philly slang.’ I love it. I’ve never heard anyone talk like that.”

Timbo chuckled. “I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. You pronounce certain words funny, like ‘here’ and ‘damn’,” she tried to imitate him.

Timbo was clueless. “You the one wit a accent. Soundin’ like Nelly ‘n shit.”

Cheryl smiled.

“Come here,” Timbo couldn’t wait any longer. She obeyed, still grinning, and lowered her face down to his lips. He quivered when he felt her lips touch his. They were plump, lickable, and delicious.

He sucked on her top lip as if it were a Jolly Rancher, and Cheryl felt a rush of fluids down below. She shoved her tongue down his throat and sent chills down Timbo’s back. All the “gentleman” left him right then. He sat up and turned around in the same motion, grabbing Cheryl by her hips to get her to lay down.

On top, he took full control as he kissed her hard on the lips. He pulled her shirt up over her head roughly, causing it to rip slightly, and ravished her on the couch. He sucked, licked, and kissed every inch of her body, paying plenty of attention to her fleshy, perfectly-sized breasts. Cheryl moaned and cooed, loving every moment.

“What do you want me to do?” Cheryl asked suddenly. “Tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do anything you want.”

Timbo was kissing her neck and unbuttoning her pants when she said that. He slowed down a bit. In response, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his jet black, rock hard manhood. Cheryl knew exactly what to do. She got on her knees next to the couch and went to work. Timbo’s eyes rolled up in his head as he moaned in pleasure.

That night they were doing it for so long in Timbo’s bedroom that the sun actually came up before they were done. Timbo was knocked out on his bed within a few minutes, and thought that Cheryl had done the same, but not so. She actually snuck out of the bed a few minutes later and did a search for her panties. She looked everywhere—by the couch, in the hall, under the bed, and in the sheets as much as she could without disturbing Timbo, but was unsuccessful. She left without making a sound and made the short trek to her car in the darkness, checking over her shoulder every three seconds.