Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang Read online

  “Ooooh-weee. Looka-here, looka-here, that purty young thang got some sweet cakes on her.”

  “I’d sop her up with a biscuit any day.”

  I ig the comments, let ’em talk what they talk as I pop my hips up in they faces. My eyes sweep ’cross the room, takin’ in all the stares and sideway glances. I grin, lovin’ the attention. I chalk my pool stick, then sink the ball into the pocket. Muhfuckas start clappin’ ’n shit.

  “Aiight, who wanna get whipped next?” I say, lookin’ directly at my target ’cross the room. He’s at’a table playin’ cards wit’ three otha muhfuckas. A bitch is feelin’ frisky and ready to earn a lil’ lunch money in the process. I look ’round the room, know-in’ aint’ nobody in here ready to bring it. I turn it up a notch when I peep my mark eyein’ me on the otha side of the room. He’s kept his eyes on me practically the whole night, which is exactly how it’s ’posed to be. I can tell the nigga is likin’ what he’s seein’. Dumb muhfucka, too bad I gotta take you outta ya misery. “I gotta gee for da baddest muhfucka up in here who thinks they can handle me on da table.” I open my bag, pullin’ out a wad’a bills, wavin’ it in the air, then tossin’ ten Ben Frankies on the pool table. A few niggas shift in they seats; some move away from the table ’cause they pockets are on low. “Goin’ once, goin’ twice…”

  “Rack ’em up, shorty,” this deep, boomin’ voice says behind me. I glance ova my shoulder. There’s a big, black greasy-ass muhfucka walkin’ up on me, grinnin’. And the muhfucka gotta nerve to have a nice smile. I turn to face ’im. I cringe when I spot two brown-skinned boogas wit’ ’im. Mygaaawd, they some big linebacka bitches. One of ’em is a real live amazon. She’s ’bout five-eleven, and a good two hundred-and fifty-plus pounds wit’ humongous-ass titties bustin’ outta some kinda blouse that crisscrosses in the front. And she has a set’a ’xtra juicy dick sukas. The bitch kinda reminds me of a moose. It looks like all she does is sit on her fat ass stuffin’ her big face wit’ muthafuckin’ Ho Ho’s and Ring Dings. The other ho is tall, too; but not as hefty. She looks like a chipmunk, though, wit’ er chubby cheeks and two big front teeth. I peep the booga has more stomach than titties. And the bitch is rockin’ a black dress wit’ some kinda powder blue sash—a fuckin’ sash?!—wrapped ’round what I guess is supposed to be her waist. Mmmph, straight country coon-trash, I think, shiftin’ my eyes. I gotta hurry da fuck up outta this hick-ass town wit’ they backward-ass fashion.

  I smirk. “Oh, you ain’t said nuthin’ but a word, Big Man. Show ya paper, and let’s get it poppin’.”

  He snaps his finga at the Chipmunk wit’ the sash. She digs into her blouse pullin’ out money. She counts out ten Ben Frankies, then stuffs the rest back down in ’er titties. I take his money, count it, then scoop up my paper and hand it all to the amazon. Why I choose ’er ova the Chipmunk is beyond me.

  I eye ’er, walkin’ ova to ’er. “Here, Boo, you hol’ this. But don’t hol’ on to it too tight ’cause I’ma be takin’ it back in a minute.” Big Man laughs. Tells me he digs my cockiness. Tells me is gonna beat me softly. I roll my eyes. Tell the nigga instead’a yappin’ his trap to break the balls and let the games begin.

  The first round I fuck wit’ the muhfucka, give ’em all’a good show and let ’im win. Then I dare the nigga for anotha round; double or nuthin’. At first he wants no parts of it; pussy muhfucka wants to run wit’ his change. But muhfuckas start eggin’ ’im on, gassin’ the nigga up that it’s an easy win. The nigga starts feelin’ himself, gettin’ all caught up in the hype. Fifteen minutes later, I rock the nigga’s socks off, moppin’ ’im up off the table. Niggas start high-fivin’, and poppin’ mad shit. Big Man runs me my paper, then I step, walkin’ right into my mark.

  “Hey, beautiful, I see you know how’ta handle a stick,” he says, grinnin’.

  I look ’im up and down. He has on a V-neck Polo tee and a pair of faded blue jeans. His curly hair is tucked under a blue Yankee fitted. Seein’ this no-good, women beatin’ muhfucka makes my guts churn. But my clit jumps, anticipatin’ finally spinnin’ the nigga’s clock back. “That’s not da only thing I can handle.”

  He stares at me as if he’s tryna remember me from somewhere. But the nigga’s only seen me once, and Juanita wasn’t the kinda ho to have a buncha flicks of me all round ’er spot, so I ain’t beat.

  “Oh, is that so?” I nod. “Where you from? I can tell you ain’t from around here.” I tell ’im I rest in Cali; that I’m here for a family reunion. “Oh word? That’s wassup. How long you in town for?”

  “’Til Sunday,” I lie, glancin’ ’round the room for a spot to sit. I peep two empty seats ova in the corner. “How ’bout we finish our talk ova a drink, then see what else pops off; if you know what I mean.”

  “I got you. How ’bout you go grab them seats, and I’ll go get us some drinks.” He tells me they only servin’ moonshine and brandy up in this muhfucka. Oh, and beers. I tell ’im to hit me wit’ some brandy, then walk off, feelin’ the muhfucka starin’ at my ass as I spin off.

  “Here you go,” he says, five minutes later when he comes ova, handin’ me a plastic cup. He grabs the chair next to me and sits it in front of me. He sits so he can face me. “Damn, ma, you look real familiar. You got people in New York?”

  Yeah, muhfucka, the bitch you beat into a coma. I shake my head, shiftin’ in my seat. “Not that I know of.”

  “Oh, aiight. For some reason it feels like I’ve met you before.”

  I stare at the nigga, then shake my head. “I doubt it. A bitch like me would definitely remember a sexy-ass muhfucka like you,” I say, baitin’ the nigga in.

  He smiles, flashin’ his chipped tooth. Muthafucka, I’ma be knock-in’ ya fronts out in a minute. “Oh word? You think I’m sexy?”

  I slowly nod my head. “You made my pussy pop da minute I peeped you walk through da door,” I tell ’im, reachin’ ova and lightly touchin’ his hand.

  “That’s wassup. You get on?”

  I frown. No this no-good muhfucka ain’t cokin’ it up, too. I shake my head. “No. I ain’t wit’ that shit.”

  “Oh aiight. What you wit’ then?”

  I lean into his ear real-sexy like, then say, “I’m wit’ a fine muhfucka wit’ a big-ass dick fuckin’ my pussy deep.”

  “Daaaaamn, it’s like that? You real bold, ma. I like that shit.”

  “It is what it is. I’m on vacay, and a bitch tryna have a good time, you feel me?”

  He licks his lips. “I got you.” I ask the muhfucka if he gotta girl. “Nah, I’m chillin’.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’m lookin’ for good dick, not drama. You got good dick, daddy?” Of course the muhfucka starts suckin’ his own dick, talkin’ ’bout how good the shit is; ’bout how he brings it in the sheets, makin’ bitches breakdown. Juanita pops into my head.

  “Yo, you got my dick hard as hell right now. I wanna freak you, real talk. I wanna eat it up, heat it up, then beat it up. Nonstop fuckin’, feel me?”

  I keep myself from rollin’ my eyes up in my head. I laugh in his face. “Nigga, that kinda talk might work wit’ these country boogas, but you wanna impress me, you gonna have’ta pull ya dick out and show a bitch; not tell ’er.”

  He flashes his crooked smile. “I dig you.” I shrug. “I’m sayin’… what’s good, ma?”

  I sit back in my seat, open and close my legs real slow and sexy. Let the nigga see a bitch ain’t wearin’ no drawers. “What’s good is this hot-ass pussy, muhfucka.” I cross my legs, then put the tip of the straw back up to my lips and sip on my drink.

  His eyes scan my smooth cocoa-brown thighs. “Daaaamn, you got some pretty-ass legs. I’d definitely like to slide up in them hips.”

  “Nigga, you couldn’t handle this pussy,” I say, twirlin’ my tongue ’round the straw, “so you might wanna stick to these dusty bama-freaks you got eyein’ you.” I slide the tip of the straw in and outta my mouth as if I’m suckin’ a dick. I’m done wit’ drinkin’ the shit since I know a
bitch can’t spend too much time wettin’ ’er throat. Gettin’ lit ain’t on the menu, but lightin’ this muhfucka’s dome up is. So I gotta keep it cute. A drunk bitch, can become a messy bitch. And I ain’t the one.

  I stare at the panther on his forearm. Juanita’s face flashes in my head, again. Kat, this is Jawan, my fiancé…

  I hear his voice in my head. Baby, you didn’t tell me she was this fine. He stares at me. “Damn, ma, you remind me of this chick I met a while back. What part of Cali did you say you were from?”

  Bitch, you need’a hurry up ’n wrap this lil’ party up. I lean in and slowly lick my lips. “I didn’t. I told you I was lookin’ for some dick, so how ’bout we take this party someplace more private so I can show you where I’m from.” He looks ’round the room. “What, you scared? Let me find out you scared’a pussy.”

  “Nah, ma. Never that.”

  “That’s what ya mouth says. Now let a bitch feel what da dick says.”

  “You gotta spot?” I shake my head. Tell ’im I’m sharin’ a room wit’ my moms and sista. Tell ’im we gotta move on the low. The muhfucka tells me his papers low. Broke ass nigga, I think while tellin’ ’im I’ll front the money. I tell ’im he’ll have’ta get the room in his name. Tell ’im to wait five minutes after I slide out, then dip out and meet me at my rental—a red Mini Cooper.

  I toss back the rest of my drink, then lean in his ear and whisper, “I’ma fuck ya brains out tonight. I hope you can deliver.”

  He grins. “My dick game is right, ma. I ain’t ever had no complaints.”

  “We’ll see,” I say, gettin’ up. “I’ll be outside waitin’.” I walk off. The minute I get to the car, I pull out my Kat line and hit Cash up to make sure he got his crew on standby.

  “No doubt, pretty-baby. We just waitin’ on you.”

  “Good. I got da nigga hooked, now I’ma ’bout to reel ’im in. Here he comes now. I’ll text you all’a da info as soon as I know where he’s gonna get da room.”

  “Aiiight bet.” I get ready to disconnect when he says sumthin’ else. “Aye, yo, Kat…how you feel? Ya pussy wet, yet, knowin’ you ’bout to body this muhfucka?”

  I laugh. “Nigga, what you think? Look, I gotta bounce.”

  “Aiight, save me them drawz.” I hang up on his ass, rollin’ my eyes an suckin’ my teeth as my mark opens the passenger door and hops in my whip.

  “Yo, ma, I ain’t get ya name.”

  I look at ’im and reach ova and rub his crotch. “And I ain’t get yours, but that ain’t gonna stop me from fuckin’ this dick. Now u wanna name, or you wanna fuck?”

  “Fuck,” he says, openin’ and closin’ his legs.

  “Good, then let’s get to a hotel quick so I can rock ya cock.” And welcome you to da Kat Trap, muhfucka!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Lights out, muhfucka…don’t you weep…ya moment in life is comin’ to an end…ruthless bitch done reeled you in…silencer cocked and ready to go…now it’s time ta rock you ta sleep…

  “Daaaaaamn, baby, you fine…you gotta fat ass…make that shit pop for me…” I got the nigga sprawled out in the middle of the bed in this cheesy-ass, low budget hotel—the Ahoskie Inn—butt-ass naked. As sick and twisted as the shit is, a bitch can’t front. Lookin’ at this muhfucka’s body gotta bitch’s pussy weepin’ for a ride on his dick. The shit is siiick; thick, veiny and a beautiful golden brown. I wanna feel the dick inside’a me. Wanna see what it is ’bout this nigga that had my mother so muthafuckin’ dizzy and dick-dumb. But I don’t want this nigga puttin’ his hands on me; don’t want him touchin’ any part’a my body. I can feel a nut slowly buildin’ up inside’a me as I think ’bout ridin’ his cock, then poppin’ his top.

  I stick my hands up my skirt, play in my wet pussy, dippin’ one finga, then two, into my hole, scoopin’ out my juices. I slowly suck on my fingas. “You wanna taste this pussy, nigga?”

  He sits up on his forearms. “Yeah, ma. Stop fuckin’ ’round and take them fuckin’ clothes off so I get up in that pussy.”

  I frown, but keep it cute. Pussy muhfucka, who da fuck you think you rushin’, I think, tellin’ the muhfucka to be easy. I tell the nigga to lay back and enjoy the show. Tell ’im I’ma give ’im sumthin’ he’ll neva forget. He scoots up toward the headboard, proppin’ pillows in back of ’im.

  I slowly pull my skirt up ova my hips, turnin’ ’round. “You wanna fuck this pussy, nigga?” I ask ova my shoulder, bendin’ ova and pullin’ open my ass cheeks to give the muhfucka a backshot view of my goodness.

  He strokes his dick. “Fuck yeah, baby…look how hard you got my shit…”

  Think, bitch. How you gonna get up on that nigga’s cock wit’out him puttin’ his muthafuckin’ hands on you?

  Bitch, get ya mind right. You don’t need’a be tryna fuck Juanita’s trash. Shoot this nigga and bounce the fuck on.

  Fuck that; squat ova da muhfucka’s face and smear ya pussy all ova it. Then pop his top.

  This nigga ain’t worthy ta taste ya pussy, ho. Body his ass and go!

  I decide to do ’im the way I had’a take Grant out, one bullet at a time. I walk ova to my bag, lettin’ da nigga think I’m gettin’ a condom. The whole time I’m in this piece I’m mindful not to touch shit. I open my bag and pull out my nickel-plated nine-millimeter wit’ the silencer attached. The irony in it all is it’s the exact type’a gun I used when I bodied Grant and his brotha. For some reason, Grant’s face pops in my head. I shut my eyes, tryna will ’im outta my head.

  “You ready for this heat, muhfucka?” I ask, slowly turnin’ ’round.

  “Hell yeah. I been ready.”

  I grin, aimin’ the gun at ’im. “Good.”

  His eyes pop open. “Whhhhaaaaat da fuck?!? Yo listen, I told you, I ain’t got no money, ma.”

  I glare at ’im. “Nigga, please. I ain’t pressed for no muthafuckin’ money.”

  “Whha-whaa-what’s up then?” he stutters, glancin’ round the room.

  “You know Juanita, muhfucka?”

  He frowns. “Who?”

  “Nigga, don’t play stupid. The bitch you beat up and left for dead in Brooklyn. Why you do it?”

  “Yo, who da fuck are you?” he asks, tryna raise up. This nigga must think I’m some kinda soft bitch. Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in his right shoulder. He grabs his shit and screeches. “Aaaaaah, fuck, damn, yo!”

  “Muthafucka, you shut ya trap, or I will blow ya face off, right now.”

  The nigga grunts. Bites down on his bottom lip. “Aaah, fuck. Why da fuck you shoot me?”

  “Nigga, don’t test my patience. And don’t insult my intelligence. Now, I’ma ask you one more time. Why da fuck you do that shit to Juanita when you knew she was pregnant? And before you open ya mouth to hit me wit’ some bullshit, you betta take’a deep breath and think ’bout what da fuck you gonna say.”

  He starts stutterin’ again. “I-I-I…yo, listen. I ain’t do that shit, ma; on e’erything.”

  Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in his left knee. “Aaaaaaah, fuck, yo! What kinda crazy bitch are you? Aaaah, fuuuuck! Who da fuck are you?” The nigga is rockin’ back and forth in pain, tryna grab his shoulder and his knee.

  “You shoulda listened to ya mammy when she told you growin’ up not ta eva get in da car wit’ strangers.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. The nigga’s sweatin’ bullets. Fear is pasted up on his face, and it makes my pussy drip wit’ excitement. “I’m da kinda bitch you don’t eva get in da car wit’. And I’m da bitch you don’t wanna piss off, that’s who da fuck I am. Now, again…why da fuck you beat up Juanita?”

  “Yo, I swear to you, I don’t know…” I point the gun at ’im again. Warn ’im that I’ma put some heat to his balls if he keeps up wit’ the lies. The nigga quickly switches up his story; tries to give me some weak-ass song and dance ’bout he didn’t mean to hurt ’er. That he was tryna leave ’er but she wouldn’t let ’im. That she kept beggin’ ’im to stay, then started fightin’ ’im. That he pushed
’er off’a ’im and she fell and hit ’er head on the edge of the table.

  “Nigga, shut da fuck up; I don’t wanna hear no more ’bout this shit. You still lyin’. Her face was beat da fuck up, nigga. Did you know she was pregnant?” He nods. Tells me that’s what they were beefin’ ’bout. That he didn’t want anotha baby; wanted her to abort it. “So you tried to beat it outta ’er instead.”

  “No. Things got outta hand.”

  “And then you fled da state, like that was gonna fix shit. Nigga, because of you, Juanita”—I pull off my wig—“is dead.” His eyes widen. “You remember me, muhfucka? Let me refresh ya memory. I’m Katrina, ’er daughter.”

  “Yo, I swear—”

  “Muhfucka, don’t swear shit. Because of you, there’s a lil’ boy layin’ up in’a incubator fightin’ for his life; because of you, there’s a baby I gotta raise now ’cause ya stupid ass had’a kill its mother. And now, muthafucka I gotta kill you.”

  “No-no…listen. You don’t gotta do this, ma…”

  “So you think I should just let you go, is that it?”

  “Yo, ma…don’t do this; don’t…”

  I stare at the nigga. Take in the blood oozin’ outta his shoulder and knee. Glance at his dick. A sly grin forms on my lips. “You wanna live, nigga? Then I tell you what. Lay back and let me see you bust that dick.”

  He frowns. Looks at me confused. “Whaat?! You want me to play wit’ my shit, ma? Are you fuckin’ serious? I’m in fuckin’ pain.”

  “Bitch-ass nigga,” I hiss through clenched teeth. I walk up on ’im, keepin’ my gun aimed at his head. “I don’t give’a fuck ’bout ya muthafuckin’ pain; I’ve been pained all my life. Now you eitha start yankin’ ya dick or get ya balls blown off. Now which is it gonna be, pain or pleasure?”

  The nigga looks shook. And he’s definitely in pain. But I wanna see this nigga nut before I shut his lights. The nigga stalls. And it starts to piss me off. “Muthafucka, I ain’t gonna tell you again, you eitha bust ya nut, or get da nut bust outta ya.”