King of Swords

He wasn't the only one out looking for Risquee. He'd put Clyde Beeson on her trail. Beeson said he'd tried every dentist and hospital in Florida and none of them had any record of her. Beeson said he'd asked around on the streets loo. He was sure she'd disappeared; most likely left the state.

It would've been the sensible thing to do, what he would've clone himself if he'd almost been killed, but Carmine didn't buy it. He knew Risquee: when she was pissed any common sense she possessed went out her ears. And she'd be real

pissed at him. She'd think he'd sent that creep who'd tried to kidnap her outside the store. If Risquee had read any of the papers, she'd know her attacker's name was Leroy Eckols, out of Atlanta, said he had 'criminal connections'.

Eckols had been killed by the driver of the car he'd shot at.

She'd want payback. And he didn't blame her, the way things looked.

So, he was out here, searching for her himself too.

He passed a stretch of dismal row houses and had to slow down for an ambulance that was pulling up outside one of them. Looked like a lot of death had happened there. Another ambulance was already in place, doors open, plus three prowlers and a blue version of his own ride with a red light on the hood. The front door was open and medics with masks on were stretchering out a stiff in a bodybag. There was a whole lot of commotion, as a heavy crowd of onlookers jostled for a view. Uniforms told them to stay back.

This kinda shit always happened around O Town. When he made proper money in Nevada, no way would he be living in the nigger towns of this world. No, he was gonna get himself a condo in a fancy high-rise block with white folks for neighbours and security at the door, kind that said 'Good morning' and 'Good evening, sir' and told you who your visitors were.

Today, he might've been a pretend cop, but he still had pimp business to attend to for Solomon. Apart from recruiting and breaking in new Cards, today was when he collected from the two street Suits - the Spades and the Clubs.

He turned onto North East 6th Street and saw a Spade called Frenchie getting out of a tan Olds. He waited until the car had disappeared and let her get a good stride in her step. She had on a red vest, red heels and a pair of Daisy Dukes so small and tight they squeezed her big fat wobbly ass cheeks half down her big fat wobbly thighs. She was forty or fifty, something around that — he didn't properly

know because she was full of shit, always lying about the time of day — dark skin, hard face, shitty teeth, shitty reddish brown wig she either wore up or all the way down to her elephantine behind. When she was far enough into her walk, he drove up and hit the brakes hard, squealing to a stop right next to her. She scoped out the car in an instant, turned around and started heading in the opposite direction.

The look was good. She'd made him for a vice cop.

He reversed, winding down the window.

'Hey, Frenchie! Git yo' ass back here!' he called out to her.

She let out breath and smiled at him.

'Shit, Carmine, baby, I thought you was a cop,' she said, hurrying over to him. She had a jamambo pair of titties that were the only reason she ever made money.

'Just testin' yo' reflexes, baby.' Carmine gave her his nicest smile. Bitch smiled back at him. She'd always told him she liked his smile the most, said it reminded her of one of her little boys - or was she the one that had girls? — he couldn't remember and didn't give a fuck either way. 'Get yo' cute lil' ass in here.'

She got in the passenger seat and closed the door.

Lil' ass? My ass! thought Carmine as she took up the whole seat.

'Watcha got for me, baby girl?'

'Bidniss been slow, baby.'

Even if he hadn't seen her getting out of the Olds, he could smell cum and sweat on her.

'That right?' Carmine smiled. 'Whose car was that I saw you gettin' out of? You got a chauffeurnow?'

She looked down at her knees, the skin on them all scarred and tough from the amount of time she spent on 'cm.

'I-ike I said, and like I keep on sayin', I got eyes every„ here, kind see round corners, so don't try 'n' play me, baby fjrl, else I'll send my man Bonbon over to see you.' Carmine

enjoyed the fearful look she got in her eyes at the mention of Bonbon's name. He could've used a Bonbon on his payroll to keep his private Cards in line — the likes of Risquee wouldn't've dared go up against him. Sam had suggested it and he'd said, nah, I'll be man enough for them bitches. He was regretting it now.

Frenchie reached down in-between her titties and handed him a thin sweaty roll of green. Thirty bucks. One fuck.

'And whatchu' got up there in yo' pussy bag?' he whispered to her.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shut her up.

'Don't be makin' me go explorin' up in there, bitch!'

She snapped open her cut-off jeans and unclipped the small cloth bag she kept pinned on the inside, under the waistband, and gave it to him.

He took out the money. Eighty bucks. Two fucks 'n' a suck.