"So there ain't no dirty-ass cops, Tank?" Naeema asked with attitude.

"Fuck yeah it is," he assured her. "Come on now. I ain't no lame, Na. There's good and bad in everything and the streets ain't safe, because not every police give a fuck. These kids gotta make better decisions about how they movin' through these streets."

"Like Olivia?" she shot back, mentioning the little girl just discussed in the news story.

"You know that ain't what the fuck I mean. Olivia and Brandon are two different scenarios."

Naeema sat back on her haunches and eyed him hard. "So Brandon deserved to die?" she asked him in a cold voice even as the heat of her anger burned her belly.

"Fuck no and if you tell me what this is all about I'll help you find out what happened."

Naeema forced herself to chill as she climbed off the bed. She knew everything Tank said was the realest shit ever. She knew firsthand that her son was in thick with a band of thieves. He wasn't completely an innocent like Olivia and so many others. Still, he didn't deserve to die.

"If you just let me know anything I can do, yo, to help you out you know I will," he said, pointedly looking around at her crazy living situation. "An-y-thing."

Naeema shrugged. "I'm good."

Tank opened his arms wide as he stared at her. "It's hot as a motherfucka in here. I think a mouse just ran across my foot being a rude little bastard. And who knows what the fuck he got goin' on downstairs."

Naeema bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"Yo, I'm serious as a heart attack. Let me at least put air in this bitch and call a fuckin' exterminator," he said.

Another point of contention in their marriage was Tank being the neat freak and Naeema caring far less whether everything was in its proper place. "What's the purpose of me jettin' if you still taking care of me?"

Tank shook his head. "But I can come thru and fuck you when you ask for that, right?"

"I didn't ask," she countered, pointing one of her long stiletto-shaped nails at him.

"No, you ordered-"

"And you obeyed," she teased.

At Tank's continued silence Naeema looked over her shoulder at him. His dark eyes rested on her. She rolled her eyes and moved past him to pull her pipe out of the box in the drawer. She turned on the lamp sitting on the corner of the dresser, giving the room more light before she packed it with new loud. "Want some?" she asked before she lit it.

"From that?" he balked.

"Yours is bigger, daddy," she assured him in a soft voice before she licked the tip and took a toke.

"Nah, I'm good," Tank said.

"But I'll make it better," she said, pushing him back down on the bed with her free hand before she sat on his lap.

Tank's hands came up to rest on her buttocks beneath the jersey. Naeema took a long toke as she swiveled her hips in tight little circles and looked him directly in those sexy fucking eyes she loved. He lightly slapped her ass as she felt his dick get harder and brush against her thigh as it grew.

Cupping the back of his head with one hand she pursed her lips and exhaled a stream of thick weed smoke. He eased his hands around to massage her soft inner thighs as he opened his mouth and inhaled. "This that good," she promised him in a whisper.

"The weed or the pussy?" he asked, freeing the smoke to swirl densely in the air between their mouths.

"Both."

Naeema took another toke as Tank raised the jersey. "Hmmmmmm," she moaned, stroking his hard dick with her hand as she held the smoke in her lungs.

His tongue felt feather light and hot against her hard nipples before he sucked one deeply into his mouth.

"Shit," Naeema swore as her clit swelled and throbbed with its own pulse.

"Give me some," he moaned against the deep hot valley between her breasts as he wrapped his arms around her.

"The weed or the pussy?" she asked, letting her head fall back as she released the last of the smoke up into the air in one long stream that floated up to the ceiling.

"Both."

She took one last strong toke before reaching down to set the pipe on the floor. She rose up on her knees and held his thick curving dick straight up to lower her pussy down onto it slowly. She paused with just the smooth tip inside her and worked her walls to clasp and release it a few times before sliding down the full length of him with a tiny circle of her hips.

"You a bad bitch," Tank told her, his eyes hot as he stared at her.

Naeema held his fine face in her hands and tilted it back before she blew a slow and steady stream of smoke into his nose as she worked her hips to ride his dick.

"The baddest bitch," he swore.

Pushing his upper body down on the bed, she sat straight up and pulled the jersey over her head to fling across the room before she pressed her hands into his hard chest and leaned forward just enough to lift her hips and slide her pussy back up to his hot tip before she slammed it back down again.

"Damn," Tank swore, pressing his hips up off the bed as he formed his lips into an O.

The weed was kicking in and she smiled with a little laugh as she enjoyed the base of his dick stroking against her clit and rode him with a slow up-and-down motion, finishing with a tight spin of her hips. The thickness of him pressed against her. The curve of his dick caused the tip to stroke her walls. The feel of his hands massaging her nipples pushed her over the edge.

"I'm staying the night and in the morning I want some more of this pussy." He pulled her upper body down to suck at her nipples again before reaching behind her buttocks to massage the small space between her pussy and ass with his thumb.

Naeema cried out as her walls tightened against the rock-hard length of him. "You big-dick motherfucker," she moaned, biting her lip, and she picked up the pace to ride him harder and faster as she felt a strong nut building.

"Make me cum," he breathed hotly against her damp nipples. "Make this dick cum."

And she did, crying out hoarsely, feeling a million different explosions go off inside her as she came with him. She rode the dick through it all even while it felt like the room was spinning around them.

Tank's body went stiff from head to toe as she felt each jolt of his dick when he filled her with his nut. She slowed the ride, squeezing her walls to draw every bit of his seed from him, and peered down at him as he made crazy sexy faces.

He puckered his lips and she instantly bent down to kiss him.

It had been months since they last made love and nothing about it had cooled off. She felt her love for him rise up in her and she forced herself to slide off his now limp dick, lying on her side with her back to him, shivering from the aftereffects and forcing herself not to say those three words.

4.

Naeema awoke with a start, lifting her head from the pillow as she looked around. The living room was empty. She looked to her right, surprised to find the other side of the bed empty too. Turning over, she sat up and the sheet fell to her waist, exposing her breasts.

She knew Tank was gone and not just in the bathroom or downstairs fucking with Sarge. Sometime during the night he had hauled ass and not even woken her. Guess he changed his mind on some early-morning pussy . . . or he's getting it somewhere else.

Refusing to let herself get riled the hell up with jealousy, she kicked off her sheets and again grabbed the jersey from the floor to pull on before she headed to the kitchen. She washed her hands in the sink and opened the fridge. That motherfucker looked like hunger, desperation, and a complete lack of food stamps. A carton of milk she knew was sour as Coko's breath and an old takeout container of fried chicken and fries she had last week were lonely as hell on them empty shelves.

She had been spending so much time with MMC-the Make Money Crew-and Vivica that she hadn't been around to cook. "Or carry my ass to work," she mumbled, turning to look out the window over the kitchen sink.

"The fuck is this?" she asked aloud coming closer to the sink to peek through the curtain at Sarge sitting next to a litup grill in the backyard.

Naeema rushed into the living room to pull on a pair of her old Jordans before heading back through the kitchen and out the back door. She almost forgot half the bricks from one of the bottom steps were gone and had to catch herself before she tripped.

"Careful," Sarge called over, the summer sun making his silver hair shiny as hell. Or she figured it could be sweat soaking his scalp from being dressed in his army fatigues. Long-sleeved shirt and all. Like his ass was still on duty and ready to salute a general or some shit.

Just crazy.

"Sarge, what you doin'?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.

She looked down at the pot of beans bubbling away on the mini charcoal grill and pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation.

"I'm cooking," he said, leaning forward to use the small spoon he held to stir the pot.

Naeema released a heavy breath. "You can cook in the house, Sarge," she said, looking over into the backyard of her neighbors to see if they were witness to the fuck shit as well.

"It was too hot in that basement for the grill today."

"Today? Huh? What?" she asked, making an incredulous face. "No . . . no . . . no. You can cook on the stove in the kitchen."

"No," he said simply, reaching in the pocket of his shirt for a small metal container that he shook over the pot.

The whole scene reminded her of a photo she'd seen on hotghettomess.com where some fool had an air conditioner duct-taped inside the back window of an old car with a generator rigged to the trunk giving that bitch power.

Just dumb shit that made no sense.

When she discovered he was still using a bucket for a toilet even though there was a working bathroom in the basement, that had taken a lot of patience and her putting her foot down for him to stop that shit.

Fighting not to vomit at the memory, she shook her head and swallowed hard. "Sarge, I let you stay here because I want you here. So please stop trying not to be a burden, because the things you choose to do is more of a burden than if you just . . . like relaxed and enjoyed the little bit of amenities we do have around here like lights and running water. You know?" she asked as she watched him take the pot off the grill and stand up with it in his hand.

"Have some," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes because he knew damn well she would not.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks."

Sarge walked back across the small paved yard and into the house as he whistled some tune. Naeema walked over to grab the hose and turn on the outside faucet it was attached to and doused the charcoal. In the end she was laughing when she walked back into the house as her stomach growled from the scent of the beans lingering in the air.

With one last look through the fridge and equally empty cupboards, Naeema walked back into the living room and stooped down to pick up the money from beneath the cold radiator. Her brow furrowed as she rose to her full height. She used her thumb to stroke the rubber band holding the money together in a roll.

Spending it didn't seem right.

Dropping the wad back into her handbag, she headed to the bathroom to shower. As she stood under the steaming hot spray of the separate shower stall, she wished the master bath upstairs worked. But the water didn't work in that bath and so she dealt with the half bath on the ground floor. She was a bath girl and would much prefer sitting her punani in hot water scented with bath oils and overrunning with bubbles.

Drying off with one of the towels folded neatly on the built-in shelves flanking the green commode, she wrapped it around her body before she brushed her teeth and gave herself a facial. Rushing, she fast-walked into the living room. She checked the time on her cell phone. "Shit," she swore, jumping up and over the bed to grab a bra and thong from her top dresser drawer before turning to reach in a bin for black spandex leggings and a half-shirt.

She barely spared a second to swipe on deodorant and spray on her favorite body mist-a mix of lavender, vanilla, and lemon that she'd blended herself. She was late but she had to take time to get her makeup straight. Most men had more hair on their head than she did and a beat face was a must-lashes and all.

Dressed and done with strapping on a pair of wedge high-top black and gold sneakers that matched the black half-shirt with BOSS BITCH splayed across her ample bosom in gold letters, she dropped all the shit from her real Louis into a fake Gucci book bag that she pulled on.

Her steps thudded against the floor as she rushed into the kitchen. "Sarge, I'm gone," she called, standing by the open door leading into the basement.

He grunted.

Naeema left the house and crossed the yard to the weathered and battered one-car garage that had only remnants of its dark green paint left. She unlocked it and lifted the door, smiling as more and more of her motorcycle was revealed. She loved it. It was a third-year anniversary gift from Tank. She stroked her fingers over the words Tank & Naeema 4Ever painted on the gas tank.

They both believed that shit back then.

Once she had on her hot-pink helmet and was riding the motorcycle down the drive, she felt like herself for the first time in a minute. No weaves. No extra crazy outfits. No faking the funk like she was a naive hood chick. Just Naeema headed to work like she had done every other day for the last nine years. Before she went undercover with the MMC, she had never missed a day of work unless she was traveling with Tank during one of his security jobs. Even if she got white-girl wasted or faded as hell the night before or headed straight to work from the club, Naeema had always clocked in and made her money.

As she dipped and moved through the heavy Newark traffic the hot summer air brushed against her skin but it felt good to her. A day without looking in them motherfuckers' faces was always an Ice Cube level good day. She pulled to a red light on Springfield Avenue next to a bright rust-colored mini-Hummer. From the corner of her eye she spotted the tinted windows lower. The sounds of Jay-Z's "Open Letter" filled the air. Glancing over at them from behind the pink tint of her helmet's visor, she quickly counted four dudes all looking at her ass spread on the seat of the motorcycle as she leaned forward ready to zoom off.

She was used to that shit and didn't let it gas her head.

Dudes loved a fat ass, and a fat ass on a bike made their eyes big and their dicks real hard.

She was just revving her motorcycle when she suddenly felt a slap against her ass. Her head whipped around quick as shit. The dude in the passenger seat was hanging half his body out the open window with a big grin on his face as his boys laughed and cheered them on. The driver in the car behind her blew his horn like he was co-signing the bullshit move.

Disrespectful motherfuckers.

Naeema flipped up the shield. "You like that?" she called over to him, sitting up straight on the seat of her motorcycle as it continued to vibrate with life between her legs and against the ass he'd assaulted.

"Hell yeah," he answered, a round-faced cutie with deep dimples.

Naeema reached up quick as shit and grabbed the collar of his plaid shirt in her left fist tight as hell as she pressed the clutch with her right and started to drive ahead, steering with one hand.

"Hey," he hollered in a high-pitched squeal like a straight bitch as his body jerked out of the window some more.

Naeema kept rolling forward slowly even as he gripped her wrist and tried to free her hold on his disrespectful ass. The driver of the Hummer accelerated to keep up with her and to keep his boy from falling out of the window as he kept hollering like a fucking pig being dragged to slaughter. "You punk bitch," she hollered to him.

She glanced forward real quick and spotted a police car in the distance headed toward them. Letting his shirt go and then slapping the shit out of him, she accelerated ahead with a laugh and rested low in her seat as she left them clowns behind easily before turning down Clinton Avenue.

Her heart was pounding and her pulse racing as she jetted the rest of the way to Hawthorne Avenue. Slowing down the motorcycle, she turned off the busy street and pulled to a stop in one of the parking spots lining the front of the minimall. She parked and removed her helmet.

"Whaddup, Naeema."

She smiled and waved to whichever of the dudes already lounging in the lot had spoken. It was just a little past eleven but the spot was already crunk with those who didn't have shit to do all day but chill or hustle. She knew as she crossed the lot and walked into the building that every eye of every dude posted up on the cars outside was on her. She didn't even need to look back to confirm that shit. It wasn't ego, just knowledge about horny-ass dudes in a pack acting like they were about to pounce.

The scent of the aftershave hit her as soon as she stepped inside the barber shop. It smelled good as hell to her. Familiar. Just like all the faces of the dudes she worked with. "Whaddup, y'all," she said with a smile as she looked up and down the two rows of ten chairs each, then she removed her book bag and set it on her station at the front of the shop.

Naeema steeled herself for the bullshit she knew was about to go down.