A Dollar Outta Fifteen Cent - Samples

Rinng! Portia had just laid down an hour ago, and was
knocked out like Mike Tyson sucker punched her, when the
phone rang. She groaned, and rolled over to peek at the clock
radio on her nightstand. It’s red numbers read 4:57 am. Rinng!
Damn, who the hell was calling her at five in the morning?
It dawned on Portia that it had to be about money. She
quickly cleared the sleep frog from her throat so she wouldn’t
sound crusty, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” It came out
sounding sweet and velvety.

“Why yo’ ass ain’t sleep yet? What, some nigga over there?
I’m comin’ through in like fifteen, so get rid of that cocksucka’.”
Portia recognized the voice immediately, but she played
him. “Who’s this?”

“Yo, you on some bullshit. You got too many niggas. Bye,
man.” He sounded real pissed

“Jay, wait! I’m just playing with you, dag. I was sleeping,
boo. And ain’t no nigga up in here. I told you I don’t get down
like that. Now what’s crackin’ daddy?”

“I’m on my way to your crib now. Get up.” Jay’s tone was
serious and demanding as usual. “Take a shower and put on
something sexy.”

“Nigga, you know you ain’t gotta tell me to wash my ass.

Chapter Fourteen
Celebration for a Liar

Jay was pissed the fuck off. Two days before the party, and
now this bullshit. He felt like an asshole. Earlier, he wanted to
call Fatima to make sure she had everything under control and
a big enough budget to work with, but he’d misplaced her
number. So when Portia drove to the supermarket and left her
cell phone home by mistake, he checked it for Fatima’s number,
and saw that Portia had new voicemail. The last incoming
call had an 804 area code. He wondered who was calling her
from Virginia. Jay couldn’t help but be curious because he had
a lot of peoples down there, so he listened to the message.

It was some country dude. Duke said, “What it is, sexy?
This Big Q. You need to come on down here for a couple of
days. Why you be acting like you don’t want no mo’ money?
I ain’t heard from you. You retired? I got something for you
that you ain’t even got to work for. You can lay flat on your
back if you want, and make ‘bout 2 or 3 G’s a night for the
weekend. I need you so bad, I don’t even want no cut. I’m just
putting you on, ‘cause a lot of these mo’fuckas been requesting
you. We missing you Mystique baby! Quit playing wit’ it,
wasting all them goods you got. That nigga you obviously done
fell for ain’t gon’ be good to you as the game is. The game been
good to you, so now you gotta be good to the game.

Chapter Twenty- Six
Flipping The Script

"You fuckin’ dirty bastard!" Wise was out of breath from
pistol-whipping Clay for stealing from the spot. He’d hurt his
hand hitting that motherfucker, so Wise picked up a bicycle
chain and he berated Clay while he whipped on him.
“You gon’ bite the hand that feed you? Is you stupid, mothafucka?
I should cut them fuckin’ sticky fingers off!”

Clay’s pitiful ass just laid there crying, talking about he
deserved the beating because they had been so good to him, he
never should have snaked them from jump.

Wise knew all of that crackhead con shit already, so Clay
could save it. He wondered how that nigga was going to smoke
some fucking crack now, with a broke jaw. That motherfuckaer
would probably find a way. “You gon’ work off every penny,
dusty mothafucka! Get the fuck outta here, and go clean yourself
up. Be back on the next shift, nigga, or I’m a put some
lead in your ass.” Wise hopped in his Navigator, and Clay nodded
and ran off.

Since Jay went away, Wise tried to stay on top of shit without
running to Cas about every little thing. His hand hurt so
bad, he wished he’d just clapped Clay. When he got home, he
would tell Fatima he hurt it playing ball, and get her to wrap
it in an ice pack.