Teri Woods - Angel's Revenge

“I take it that Bernard knew your middle name and you think it was Bernard who sent the limo and the flowers and somehow got in your house and played a CD that the two of you used to listen to?”

“I know it sounds crazy, and you probably think anybody could’ve done those things, but I know in my heart, I swear, that those things are signs, Miss Murphy. Signs.”

“Signs of what?” Delores asked. The girl must be crazy. Let me get her out my house.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I had to see you. I thought that maybe you knew something. If anybody knows, I figured it would be you.”

“Knows what? If my son is still alive?”

“Yes, exactly. That’s exactly what I was thinking, Miss Murphy. I know he’s in a lot of trouble, especially if he’s alive, and you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. I realize you don’t even know me. But, I swear, Miss Murphy, I just need to know. If he’s alive, ask him why he’s doing this to me, because he’s driving me crazy.” Nina shook her head in despair.

Delores looked at Nina and watched her body language as she spoke about her son. She didn’t know Nina. For all Delores knew, Nina could have been anyone trying to get information about her son.

If she thinks I know something, why would she think I would tell her? Delores asked herself. Delores never spoke of her suspicions to anyone and certainly wasn’t about to start today. She felt bad for Nina. She reminded her of herself. She knew despair, she knew pain, she knew heartache. His name was Bernard James, Sr., and he was her son’s father. She had lost her love a long time ago and also refused to let go.

“Please, Miss Murphy, I know you know something,” Nina pleaded.

“And that ring, did Bernard send you that, too?” Delores inquired.

Nina glanced down at the lie she wore on her left ring finger and moved her hand from above the table to under it.

Delores stood up slowly.

“Nina, I can only tell you what you already know. Bernard is dead. This I can assure you because I cremated his body myself. Go on with your life and forget my son.”

Delores wouldn’t dare tell Nina anything else. She wasn’t about to share her private thoughts with a complete stranger. Besides, if her son had wanted someone to know something, he would have said it himself. As his mother, she had never said a word to anyone about him, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“Go on with my life? How? I can’t. I’m at a crossroad, a major crossroad, and I can’t cross,” she pleaded with Delores not to end their conversation. But she knew it was already over. “What about all these unexplainable events?”

“He’s dead, Ms. Martin. Please let yourself out.”

Their eyes met for a split second before Delores turned and left the kitchen. Nina was trembling so violently, she had to brace herself against the table. She began to sob. Her tears splattered onto the table as they rolled off her cheeks.

She had come to learn the truth and in a way she had. Delores was hiding something. Nina could feel it. It was in the woman’s eyes, and Nina saw right through her. What was she trying to hide? She could hardly look at me when she spoke to me. Yes, his mother is definitely hiding something. But what? Maybe he is alive, maybe.

Nina felt it, and deep down, she believed.

I t’s time to get money,” Dutch told his crew one night, signaling the end of the Month of Murder.

He, along with Craze, Angel, Roc, and Zoom, met in Dutch’s loft apartment on the outskirts of Newark.

“Everybody remotely close to Kazami is dead, thanks to Roc and Zoom.” Dutch laughed, Kazami’s chain swinging from his neck. “The rest of these niggas, we don’t even need a murder game for.”

“Don’t need it?” Zoom questioned. “Fuck you think, nigga’s just gonna bow down?”

“Word up,” Craze agreed. “I say we keep these niggas duckin’ and runnin’ until they bow down.”

Dutch shook his head. “We ain’t gotta gun ’em, just outthink ’em. And since most niggas think wit’ their dicks, we control that, we control them.” Dutch turned to Angel. “It’s your turn, baby girl. Whoever these niggas wanna fuck or bein’ fucked by, I want you to tuck them under your wing. Use what you are to get us what we want. Lick ’em, trick ’em, spend cheese on ’em. Whatever you gotta do to get ’em on our team, do it,” he explained.

“Then what?” Angel asked.

“Then we lay on ’em to slip because they all do. If they movin’ against us, we’ll know because their bitches will tell us. Niggas won’t even know they sleepin’ with the enemy. Control the pussy and you control the game.”

Angel understood and set out to master her craft.

“Look at this nigga,” Angel giggled, referring to the driver of the Pepsi-blue Escalade sitting on twenty-four-inch spinners.

He was smiling down at them in Angel’s new cherry-red Viper drop-top with black interior and red piping.

“Damn you doin’ it, papi,” Angel flirted, emphasizing the Spanish in her accent.

The nigga’s chest swelled, and he hung his wrist out the window flashing a platinum Piaget skeleton watch.

“Not as hard as you in them shorts. You doin’ it,” he said as he eyed Angel’s thighs and fat pussy through her daisy dukes.

“Watch this,” Angel whispered to Goldilocks. She bent over, kissed Goldi on the mouth, and played with her pussy.

Angel looked up. “I’d rather be doin’ you, papi. Me and my boo here. What you think, huh? Can you handle two bad bitches?” Angel teased as Goldilocks rolled her tongue like a snake’s. The driver boned instantly.

The light turned green but neither car moved.

“Damn, ma! Slow down! You don’t bullshit, do you?”

“There ain’t nothing slow about me. Follow me if you can,” Angel said with a smile, then darted off down the street.

“Pussy runs the game, Goldi. Don’t ever forget that,” she said, laughing at the Escalade in her rearview mirror. “This dude don’t know us from jack, but look at him, followin’ us like a little lost puppy.”

Angel made a left and the Escalade followed, continuing the pursuit.

“Ask a broke nigga who took him out the game. Ask a crackhead cat who turned him out. Ask a nigga in any prison in America who half the time ain’t worried about his spot or who’s gettin’ his cake. You know what he’s worried about? He’s worried about who’s fuckin’ his baby mama!”

Angel and Goldilocks laughed as Angel switched lanes.

“Is that what that thing with Leslie is all about?” Goldilocks questioned.

“Exactly. I remember the night Dutch broke it down to me. But the difference with us is we gonna take it to the next level. We ain’t goin’ after these niggas ’cause that’s what they expect. We goin’ after their bitches. Trust me, we’re about to lock this shit down, boo. Lock this shit down, and Roll gonna give it to us!” Angel said, laughing.

“What about him?” Goldilocks asked as she gestured to the Escalade.

“Man, when we finished toyin’ with this weak-ass nigga, we’ll be sittin’ right where we wanna be,” Angel replied, taking a quick right, using the skills she had mastered as a car thief. She swung a left and timed the next light on the yellow. Safely, she made it through but the Escalade wasn’t as fortunate. A cab rammed into the driver’s side in the middle of the intersection.

Angel glanced at Goldilocks, “Any questions?”

Angel wasted no time putting her game down. She concentrated on Leslie, and it wasn’t long before Leslie had a secret fetish and her name was Angel. It was so bad, it got to the point that Leslie couldn’t get through the day without calling Angel, and if Angel didn’t answer, oh boy! Leslie called and called until she heard Angel’s voice. The promise of a rendezvous, the promise of her between her legs licking and sucking her pussy, completely opened her up. Leslie couldn’t handle the sex. But not only did Angel get in her panties, she got in her head and meticulously picked at her brain.