Caligula

By Che Peso

Historically speaking- Caligula was a roman emperor who's name would grow synonymous through time, with sex and violence by the way he ruthlessly killed his enemies, and prostituted his sisters in the royal palace.
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It all started on a chilly night in 1972 on the streets of Boston when Chicaboo Pimp set his mind on introducing Pat into his world of sex money and drugs,and the fast life underneath the street lights.
Pat did fall victim to his poisonous game,and would eventually give birth to a baby boy on an even colder day inside of a prison hospital room later that year...and rather than being raised as a son of a pimp? Pat's son Calvin grew up as a student of the game - earnin and learnin the game from day one.

Follow this story as it unfolds through the years as Chicaboo first lays claim to the crown as a flawed king of the game...and witness the change from Calvin to Caligula as he juggles the game to the point where he either falls like too many who try to defy the odds,or- lives on as a legend.
Game will surely recognize game wit every turn of the page in this gritty and graphic novel depicting the ugly truths of a life few survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Che Barnes
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310727283

Che Peso

Che’ Peso is a self-publishing author from Boston who is currently incarcerated in Massachusetts, but is looking forward to regaining his freedom in the near future.Although ‘Caligula’ is his first mainstream distributed book, it’s his second published work and he plans to continue with his passion for writing by publishing other books he has written and by helping other aspiring authors reach their publishing goals.Peso has many interests and thoroughly enjoys meeting and getting to know people of all backgrounds. He prides himself on being a well-rounded, open-minded individual and looks forward to being able to travel again to see places and meet faces from all over.He can be reached at [e-mail]

Book preview

First, I want to salute all the real pimps, macks, players, hustlers and hos out in those streets ten toes deep, tryin’ to eat day in and night out without sleep. My imagination is nothing compared to your reality.

Right or wrong, you all make the world go ‘round.

What’s up to a few friends of mine who I’m glad to know: Nicole P., my girl ‘Streetdreama’ and mad luv to my girl Nina (9). Get yours, ma.

Shout out to Sharyl (‘Rell). Can’t too many walk in those heels and make it do what it do like you! And extra shout out to my next top model friend, Nakita. You came into my life right on time! Hope you stay a while.

Salute to the fam . . .

Tru, ‘da wayz we’re different holds nothin’ to how we complement each other! Your words, but might as well be mine, luv you cuzz!

Raza, your loyalty is second to none. You’re the realest!

One, I wanna go from here to there as easy as you bro. It is what we do.

Fresh, Biscardo, Pleezy, Handz, Studio and ‘Reem. We on the same path, got on different shoes. We in the same building, but got different views.

What’s up to my mans, Steel. Hustle, hustle, hustle hard!

What’s up to a true friend, Tanisha (Nikki). I hear your voice in my sleep.

Special ‘hey baby’ to Vantrell (Trell). You my Jada!

Last but not least, you, the reader. I appreciate your support and for tellin’ a friend to tell a friend. This is just the beginning. Ride wit me.

PROLOGUE

Women, all women are queens by nature and deserve to be worshipped and treated with the upmost respect and admiration. It’s also in their nature to be protected and revered, but in their quest to carve out a queendom in a man’s world, they don’t always find a man capable or qualified enough to deliver to them their needs and wants. Some women manage to do for self, but others fail to deliver themselves from the pains of life. This is where a pimp can enter a woman’s life.

Women want, pimps deliver. It’s a pimp’s job to deliver and whenever, or wherever there’s a want or need, there’s an opportunity for pimpin’. A pimp has victims, not friends and everyone is considered a conquest, or opportunity. It’s not that a pimp doesn’t respect women, but it’s the nature of the game that a pimp holds the front position. A lead position in any woman’s life who seeks his managerial skills, guidance and advice. The same way a C.E.O. does in any company. Pimps up (in the front), ho’s down (in the back).

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Book One: Pimp By Blood

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Book Two: The Birth

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Book Three: The Beast Within

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Book Four: The Bright Lights

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Book Five: Full Circle

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Book Six: The Beast Unleashed

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Book Seven: A Star is Born

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Book Eight: The Life

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Book Nine: The Prayer

Chapter 40

About the Author

BOOK ONE: PIMP BY BLOOD

CHAPTER 1

Chicaboo, or Chic as he was known, sat quietly in the passenger side of his red Lincoln Continental coupe watching the two females across the street standing at the bus stop. He had already measured his chances of knockin’ both of them, if not one at least, ever since he first saw them last week. Ever since then, he had stalked them like a lion does a gazelle from the high bush, watching them come and go. A pimp is always on the hunt.

Knowing that the two girls were squares, not working girls, had Chic plotting a little bit more than usual because he knew he just couldn’t walk up and enter a female’s life. It’s against a pimp’s code of conduct to show interest in anyone who interest isn’t shown in him first and then once a pimp gets chosen, he can enter a female’s life because he has been invited.

Honey sat behind the wheel of the Lincoln next to Chic, silently hiding her disgust. She had been Chic’s bottom bitch for years now and she knew he didn’t have the tempered patience to turn out squares. He lacked finesse.

Even in her disgust though, she saw the opportunity for what it was worth, like any veteran ho would. Money was tight, drugs were light and things were getting no better. ‘It’s January, spring is around the corner,’ she figured in her mind, ‘and if I break these two bitches in, 1972 might turn out to be a good year.’ Honey was Chic’s main rib and if he was a lion, then she was the lioness.

Possessed with a pimp’s imagination, Chic had visions as he watched the two females walking toward the coffee shop he was parked on the side of, around the corner. He took another swig from the bottle of Hennessey he had to keep him warm from the biting cold of the night air and tapped Honey on the thigh before swallowing hard.

Pull up behind these bitches right here, he commanded, feeling the heat from the liquor travel down his chest and Honey pushed the stinkin’ Lincoln out into the street.

Damn Pat, I can’t believe your daughter is fourteen already, Cherries said as they started across the street toward the coffee shop, pulling the front of her coat tighter up around her neck. The bus was running late and she wanted some hot chocolate. When her friend Pat hesitated, she insisted. My treat, she had said.

Yeah girl. Time flies when you’re having fun, Pat responded sarcastically as she looked anxiously down the street for the bus. She’s the same age I was when I had her and if she keeps moving at the pace she’s going, she’s gonna end up like me. Washing toilets for pennies, trying to move out my mother’s house.

You ain’t lyin’ because I feel the same way.

Cherries, I feel worse because I’m twenty-eight years old and I should have my own place. Not sharing a room with my daughter in my mother’s apartment in the projects, Pat said, disgusted over her situation and wishing she was Cherries’ age again, who was twenty-two. Being mature for her age, Cherries could relate.

Pat met Cherries through a friend who used her as a babysitter, then recommended her to Pat. As the years went on, they became as close as sisters and the hardships of life had brought them even closer. Even though Cherries was younger, she played the big sister role and so when she got a job at the Saks 57 Movie Theatre Hotel complex in downtown Boston, she got Pat one there too. Pat didn’t mind having Cherries look out for her, because life had been hard on her and it felt good to have someone she could depend on as a friend.

Pat’s mother was an over the top alcoholic and she came down hard on Pat for every little thing; verbally, mentally and emotionally abusing her through the years. The atmosphere at home prompted Pat to embrace younger people because she felt young at heart and looked as young as most of them.

Her 5’2 frame stood on strong, curvaceous legs and her small waist complimented her firm hips. Her small perky titties sat up on her chest even when she wore no bra. She had long, jet black hair and a reddish brown complexion, thanks to her Indian roots and big, round brown eyes that rested on high cheekbones. She was appealing to all men, young and older, and flaunted her feminine sex appeal without too much effort, or shame. She wrapped older men around her finger when she was younger and now that she was older, did the same to younger guys. Pat had a confidence in her that she knew could get her any man she wanted. There was a saying about her in the projects, Pat fucked the boys; fought the girls."

Inside the coffee shop, Cherries tried lightening the mood because she knew how sensitive and emotional Pat was.

What’s goin’ on with Tommy, your secret admirer? she asked and they both laughed. Tommy was a guy at work who wasn’t that much of a secret admirer and wouldn’t give up on Pat, despite being rejected by her over and over.

You know I ain’t messin’ wit his fat ass.

He’s a nice guy though, Pat, Cherries said, playing matchmaker.

Yeah, he’s so nice, he got three kids and I got enough headaches over the one I got, Pat responded, thinking about how her daughter, May, had been on her constantly about moving to Worcester so she could be closer to her father who moved from Boston with his family right after May was born. Him not being there to help her only made things harder.

But, you know what they say, right? Pat asked as an afterthought with a smile on her face.

No, what?

Keep the people wanting more, Pat answered and they laughed together just as the door opened behind them and Chic walked in.

Chic was thinking something similar as he stepped in out of the cold, because he knew a pimp’s power rested in his anonymity and his arrogance added to his distant nature, served as his protection. In his eyes, he wasn’t stepping into a coffee shop. He was stepping into a moment and all he wanted to do was make his presence known and appear as inviting as possible, because once they saw he had no interest in their lives, they’d have an interest in his. It’s human nature to seek acceptance from someone who rejects you. Marvin Gaye spent his whole life seeking his father’s approval and acceptance, but never got it. Even up until the moment when his father shot and killed him.

Let me get two coffees pretty lady, Chic said to the clerk who just so happened to come to the counter as Chic did. A pimp’s timing is uncanny sometimes.

Oh no, excuse me. You cut us, and bump into me, Pat said halfheartedly, looking up at Chic who was looking straight ahead.

Cherries smiled nervously and gave Pat a ‘shush’ as she tugged on her sleeve, knowing Pat was mischievous.

Hey pretty lady, Chic spoke again with a cool air in his tone. Put whatever these two ordered on my bill baby, and keep the change. Chic peeled off a ten-dollar bill from his knot of cash and threw it on the counter.

Cherries whispered in Pat’s ear to leave him alone, but Pat was feeling some kind of way about being ignored.

How you know we want you to pay for our stuff? Pat challenged him, checking him out from the side at the same time.

It’s my job to know, baby, Chic responded as he grabbed his coffees, spun on his heels and left out the store without never ever giving Pat a glance.

You can’t be messin’ wit people, Pat, Cherries said as they grabbed their drinks and went to leave. And besides, he was dressed like a pimp, she added as they stepped back out into the cold, only to find Chic there waiting on them. He eyed them now from beneath the trim of his brim as he leaned against the passenger door. Pat smiled, but Cherries was serious looking.

Where are you two stallions off to in this bitter cold? Chic asked and it was Cherries who spoke up this time, not wanting nothing to do with him. Pat still had a smile on her face though, excited by the gleam in Chic’s eyes.

We got a bus to catch. Excuse us, Cherries said.

Pat spoke too. Where we’re goin’ ain’t none of your business anyway.

See, if you were my business, you’d be goin’ further than you are now by yourself and you wouldn’t be lookin’ like two penguins in the cold, waitin’ on a bus to get there. Let’s roll baby, Chic said to Honey. These bitches got eyes, but they can’t see.

Honey made the Lincoln lunge out into the street, leaving Pat with her mouth open in disbelief and Cherries now smiling.

He told you, Pat! she said with a smile, then they both laughed and as they were laughing, Chic was straight faced while the Lincoln made it through light traffic.

Most pimps ruled by choice, not by force and Chic was something in between because he liked feisty bitches. He liked to punish and break them like a trainer does a wild horse he wants to ride at his leisure. Half a grin crept on his face as he thought about how Pat eye-balled and challenged him and he let his free hand rest on Honey’s thigh. She smiled when he gave it a squeeze.

Chic didn’t go back to the coffee shop until the beginning of February and as a pimp’s timing would have it, Cherries was stuck with the flu, so Pat was by herself at the bus stop.

Blow the horn, bitch, he told Honey as he got out the car and slammed the door while looking across the street. Honey did as she was told and Chic held his head high despite the bitter cold. A lot of people don’t understand how a pimp can pimp, but if you have an interest, want, or desire, you can be pimped too. As long as you’re a pimp, they will be ho’s. Once you assume your position, they will stay in theirs. It’s all about playing your position.

Pat heard the horn, saw Chic waving for her to come over and smiled as she started across the street. She had thought about Chic a lot since she saw him that one time and now here he was. She couldn’t wait to see what he wanted. She saw Honey staring as she approached Chic, but ignored her.

You in a better mood? she asked.

You ready to stop standin’ in the cold? Chic asked. Where’s your friend?

Why, you like her or somethin’? Pat responded, giving him an inviting look and Chic knew she was his to have. There for the taking. He just had to play it out.

Listen baby, it’s too cold for this back and forth. Let’s go somewhere and talk.

I don’t have nothin’ but complaints and I really don’t have time. My bus…

My time is money and I got plenty of both to spend makin’ life better, not complainin’ about it, Chic spit game, holding Pat’s stare with one of his own, knowing he never let a bitch look him in the eye this long.

And your bus, it’s goin’ by right now, he said, grabbing her arm as she went to turn.

Hey! Let me go! she yelled, snatching her arm away so she could rush across the street, but stopped in defeat as the bus rumbled by. She crossed the street anyway, upset and cold, cussing Chic under her breath as she watched him get in the Lincoln and drive off. A few minutes later though, Chic was in front of her, behind the wheel and Honey was gone.

Get in baby, let me hear some of those complaints you got, Chic said and when Pat asked him if he was going to take her home, Chic spit more game. I’m gonna take you wherever you wanna go. Now get in out the cold.

Pat got in and Chic gunned the engine, making her snap back in her seat.

They drove in silence for a minute, then Chic passed her a joint and told her to light it. Tell me about those complaints. Tell me about your life.

Pat passed the joint back and forth with Chic as he cruised around downtown, passing all the flashing lights of the adult entertainment stores on Washington Street and the admiring hos huddled up trying to keep warm watching him cruise by.

Before Pat knew it, they were parked in front of Normandy Lounge on the corner of Washington and Avery Street.

Why we stopping here? I damn sure don’t live here, Pat asked, feeling light from the weed, a hint of giggle in her voice.

Be cool, because this is where it all begins. Your life and mine. Two souls tryin’ to make beautiful in an ugly world. We gonna go upstairs, drink and go out to party. You already said you don’t got work tomorrow, so tonight, you’re mine, Chic said, finally smiling, trying to make her decision as easy as possible.

I told you, I don’t have no money. Only complaints and worries.

Don’t worry about nothin’ baby, because I’mma take care of everything and you too, if you want me to. My name is Chicaboo Pimp and there’s nothin’ that I can’t do. I swam up the Mississippi River to get here from Louisiana an all I’m askin’ you to do is go upstairs with me. Chic spit game, feeling confident, putting his hand gently under her chin.

Her eyes lit up as she smiled, caught up in his charm, like a fly in a spider’s web.

Chic’s top floor apartment was a vision in white. The carpet was wall to wall white and as soon as you entered, there was a bar with two white cushioned stools and a closet on the left. In front of you sat the plush leather white couch facing the TV that was sitting to the right, facing left and on both ends of the couch with a clear glass table in between, sat two matching loveseats. Big windows were covered by white drapes, blocking the balcony and a stereo sat behind the couch on the wall next to the door that led to the bathroom, that you had to go through to get to the bedroom that was as big as the living room itself; simple and plain, yet expensive and elegant.

Damn, you live here? It looks like a hotel room," Pat said in awe.

I live where I can baby, because it ain’t easy livin’ the life I do,

Chic said, stepping behind the bar to make drinks as Pat sat down on the couch. What kinda life do you live? It must be a good one, she asked and answered her own question as she turned on the TV, not even bothering to notice that Chic had ignored her question.

It’s not a bitch’s business to know everything about a pimp. It’s a pimps business to know everything about her. It’s the mystery that keeps them interested beyond the excitement, drugs, sex and danger.

Here, drink this and get warm. Where do you wanna go?

I don’t know. You said you were taking me to a party, so you tell me, she responded.

Chic said to himself, ‘that’s what I get.’ Pimps don’t give choices. They give orders and they don’t ask questions, they answer them. Any question he doesn’t have an answer to, he should say, ‘I don’t care.’

He took a sip of his drink, taking note of the lesson learned that Pat was witty and watched her take a gulp from hers and get up to walk over to where he was sitting.

Her work uniform was hugging her hips tight. Chic had to admit that she was beautiful.

Besides, I might wanna stay in this fine ass apartment and party, just the two of us. Patricia and Chicaboo, she said, sitting in his lap.

Is that right? Chic asked, not expecting a response and not reacting to her advances. He knew that any pimp who had sex with a ho for no reason ran the risk of being put in the same category as a trick by the ho.

Yeah, that’s right, Pat said in a low voice, feeling more confident in Chic’s lack of reaction, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. As she did, she kicked her leg up further on his thigh and Chic took the bump as an opportunity to spill his drink on her, making it look like an accident.

Oh shit! she exclaimed.

Oh shit is right bitch. This is a $700 dollar suit. Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? Chic said, jumping in fake anger that was real enough to scare Pat.

Not even worried about her own mess, she tried to clean the few drops that spilled on Chic, apologizing until Chic pushed her away.

Let’s go.

I’m sorry, Chic. Just let me clean this.

Bitch, I said let’s go and I mean what I say and say what I mean, he said, adding some ice to his tone.

Pat knew he meant business and started to walk toward the door behind Chic. Downstairs in the car, Chic put on some Chi-lites and then drove in silence, leaving Pat to wonder and stew in the mess she made.

Before she knew it, they were in front of her building in the projects and Chic was pulling off, still haven’t said a word. Ice cold.

Chic smoked a joint as he drove up Blue Hill Avenue, going over his plans for Pat because he knew she was his to have and all he had to do was package and sell it. He knew he had to get over the fact she was older and less impressionable than the bitches he was used to dealing with and he might have to use a little bit more intimidation and fear than he normally would to keep a ho in check, but he knew, where there’s a pimp, there’s a way.

Born and raised in Shreveport Louisiana, Chicaboo never had a hard time attracting women, but his charm and good looks were no match for his temper and abusive nature. Rumor was, his Creole family dabbled in black voodoo and he was born closer to hell than he was to heaven, but there’s a lot of superstitious myth in Louisiana. For whatever reason though, Chic would just as much beat and whup on a bitch as he would fuck her, like it excited him just the same. His reputation was well known and when a white chick from a prominent family around town falsely accused him of slapping her at a bar, local law enforcement went looking for him with a lynch mob mentality.

Feeling the heat caused by his heavy hand, Chic had little choice but to skip town and landed in Cleveland, Ohio.

Chic’s hand proved weak in Cleveland though and he found his way over to Atlantic City where he learned and earned his game. True to form, game recognizes game the same way pimps and hos recognize each other without even having to say a word sometimes. The same way a pimp is on the hunt, A ho is always on search for the pimp who can deliver to her what she wants and needs. Hos must weigh and choose before they make a move because their wants and needs ain’t always on the same page. Some need lies and fantasies, but others want a dream to believe and chase. Others need physical and emotional mistreatment and the emotionally damaged ho with a history of sex abuse in her life must be kept in tears. The damaged ho though is usually with a broke pimp who doesn’t have a bunch of hos and he can spend his time feeding and treating her insecurities. The main difference between these type hos is money. The physical and emotional ho has no interest in money because it’s bigger and deeper than that with them. The lie and fantasy ho, she must be rocked to sleep so she can be fed even more dreams, because she wants to live the life. Stay high and dress nice. This is the ho who wants to be a star.

In Atlantic City, Chic managed to get chosen by a few hos who would put up with the slaps and occasional foot up the ass.

Chic thought he was installing loyalty, but in all actuality, all Chic did was prove himself to be was a ‘cop n blow’ pimp rather than a ‘cop n lock’ pimp. Despite his heavy hand though, Chic caught his stride, but stumbled in the end.

You can’t turn a ho into a housewife the same way you can’t give a ho a knife then trust her with your life. That’s the true saying. Most hos carried knives or razors for protection just in case a trick gets too aggressive or violent. Just because a bitch is selling pussy doesn’t mean anything goes and this is a lesson Chic had to learn from this ho named Sandy, who was short stopping johns at the end of his track.