Trouble

By Ju-Ju Bishop

Who is she? Where did she come from? And why is she so alluring? Charlie questions himself about this woman, whose seductive style and mysterious stare, had him captivated at first glance, her first words... Her.

What was the plan? Why did she choose him? What was it about him that changed the way she felt? And what now?

They found each other; two completely different paths, one crossroad. All they had in common was: neither would ever look back. But, when Trouble finds them, the danger is as real as life and death... murder or be murdered.

All they have is each other... Two strangers. But, how can you trust someone you don’t know? How do you fight falling in love?

“Trouble” will take you on a ride headed into an uncertain future. Such a powerful connection, one bred from the very soul; so raw, so real, so pure... How could it last? Will it last forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Real Ink Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540115805

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Copyright © Real Ink Publishing, LLC

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recordings or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book; except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles and reviews.

TROUBLE

First Edition, 2016

Printed in the United States of America

Publisher: Real Ink Publishing, LLC

Interior Design: LaQueisha Malone

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is without a cover, it may have been reported to the publisher as unsold or destroyed and neither the author(s) nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, historical events, real people living and dead, or the locales are intended only to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, businesses and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Also Available

Chapter One

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Hey, Cee.

The shimmy was unmistakable. Even if Cee didn’t notice the swagger, the blond wigs’ contrast to that black skin said it all. What up, Blondie?

You working?

Blondie walked up with that ‘suck a dick for a short’ face and Cee wasn’t having it. She pulled out the five bill and let it flap back and forth, and Cee raised a hand, Listen, love, it ain’t happening. Cee smiled when Blondie licked her lips. He’d seen her break down right in front of his eyes over the last six or seven months. Maybe once upon a time... but now, Cee wouldn’t think about putting dick in that bitch’s mouth.

Come on, Cee. Blondie dropped the act, let her hands hang, and looked away. I remember when all you niggas wanted some ass. And, don’t act like you forgot how I work a dick. She tightened and narrowed her tongue while she stuck it out and rapidly slapped it at the corners of her mouth.

Blondie used to be a dime, then she started fucking with that shit, and crack ate her ass up. The stroll stretched the pussy out and probably burnt it with that ninja. Negative, Blondie. I barely got P.C. as it is. You know I ain’t gonna bring Ralphy no shorts.

Fuck Ralphy! I don’t know why you don’t get your own strip already and stop fuckin’ wit’ that bird ass nigga...

Don’t try to G me, Blondie, please. You ain’t getting it, so go find another dick to suck. And hey, you might even be able to get more than one dime when you come back.

Don’t play me, Cee! Then, Blondie smiled. Thirty dollars for some joy, nigga, to get these lips.

Yeah? That’s probably why you broke now, trying to get damn near half an eight ball to suck a dick.

Yo, Cee? Ralphy turned the corner and parked across the street from Cee and Blondie. He was pushing a ten-year-old 300 Benz. The factory built sound system blared Hip-Hop while he nodded to the rhythm and waited for Cee to come to him.

Cee wasn’t really feeling Ralphy. He was a couple of years younger than Cee, nineteen to Cee’s twenty three, yet it was Ralphy who had him out on the block hustling for pay. Ralphy gave him a way to make some paper after he got out.

At nineteen, Cee was in O.B.C.C. Downstate, then Sing-Sing. Twenty to twenty-three he was in Washington and Greene. There was no time to get his mind right, no time to get his money right. Just prison... Early.

Cee took the opportunity to get away from Blondie. Once upon a time he used to want to get with that. Then, he came home and the bitch was smoked out. He couldn’t believe that after what crack did to people in the eighties and nineties, motherfuckers was still starting that shit up.

At the car, Cee gave Ralphy dap, then walked around and got in on the passenger side. As soon as the car door closed, Ralphy slapped his hands together and vigorously rubbed them back and forth, ready to get hit off. What you got for me?

Cee exhaled as he stared Ralphy down. Ralphy always tried to match his stare, but he could never seem to. Cee pulled out the stack and counted out a thousand. I got enough to rock out till Boom come in less than an hour.

That nigga better! I ain’t having no late shit again. Ralphy saw Cee about to leave and stopped him. Whoa, hold up, son. What Blondie waiting for? To get served?

Na. the bitch begging again.

Ralphy had that look in his face. Go ahead and give her one.

Cee turned to Ralphy. What, free?

Yeah.

Where my ten dollars at? Cee’s voice changed. The rest of the work was his pc, and he didn’t move until Ralphy laughed while he counted out ten and handed it to him. Cee took the money, and then calmed. Fuck you gonna do with that bitch, Ralphy?

Damn, nigga, fuck you asking me all these questions for? Don’t sweat dat. Ralphy turned to Blondie across the street. Yo, Blondie, come here.

Cee shook his head and got out of the car. As he walked around the car, Blondie met him in the middle of the street. She took the dime when he handed it to her and tried to give him the five. Naw, love, it’s on him. He pointed to Ralphy. Cee walked back to the corner and stood by the payphone in front of the bodega. He watched as the beat up Benz pulled off. He also saw Blondie’s head disappear into the driver’s side and couldn’t understand how Ralphy was getting money like that and fucking with crack heads.

Chapter Two

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Cee had just pushed his last piece when Boom pulled up. What up, my dude?

What up, Cee? Where Ralphy at?

Boom, who worked the twelve to eight shift, was the opposite of Cee. Cee was five feet ten, toned from the weight pile in prison, and brown skinned with shoulder length braids. Boom was seventeen, six feet four and black as hell, with a nappy fro and as big as a house.

I don’t know where that... Just as Cee began to answer, the Benz turned the corner and parked. The same music blared and Ralphy had the same head nod. Cee stretched out his hand. I’ma holla at you, my dude.

Boom slapped Cee five. Yeah, yeah, Cee. You alright though, right? Boom respected Cee, for other reasons one wouldn’t know the answers to, but didn’t question either.

I’m good, young. Cee walked off shaking his head when he heard Ralphy trying to bark on Boom. He threw up a peace sign when Ralphy shouted him out, but didn’t turn around, didn’t reply, he just kept it moving.

Cee knew he could probably take that strip from Ralphy if he really wanted to. The only reason why he didn’t straight shit on Ralphy was because Ralphy blessed him when he got home. Then there was the fact that he would probably have to kill him, and then fuck around and get pointed out by somebody on his team.

Cee walked up Broadway after he copped a sack of that sticky, then hit a store and copped a blunt before heading toward the train station. He had almost three hundred in his pocket, almost three thousand in the stash, and absolutely nothing planned past the day.

Cee passed a bar and heard a familiar sound, an R&B track he remembered from back before he got knocked. It was supposed to be his and Vickie’s song. Vickie was a bitch that bounced on him as soon as he copped out for stabbing a thug that was fucking her up in front of her building.

Cee stopped for a second, then took two more strides before turning around and stepping into the bar. Bars weren’t his swing, but something about that fucking song starting up just as he stepped in front of the place made him say fuck it. When Cee sat at the bar, he thought to himself, Is this what the fuck it’s gonna be like? Empty days? Empty nights?

There was money on the corner, but Cee wasn’t no fucking worker! His eyes shut tight with frustration and he saw himself putting two bullets in Ralphy. He shook it off and opened his eyes. The bartender stood in front of him. Just give me whatever.

Whatever it is. The bartender left, poured from one of the bottles, and then returned. Whatever this is, its five dollars.

Cee pulled out his mini knot and peeled the ten singles he got from Ralphy, paused, and then counted out ten more. Here, make it a double.

The bartender took the money and with the implied tip, automatically warmed to Cee. You got it, big fella.

Cee took a sip from his drink, and then screwed his face at the taste. The song on the jukebox was just finishing as he sat on the stool, arms rested on the bar top. As the bartender returned, the song repeated. Cee turned in the direction of the music and saw a woman with her back to the bar as she faced the jukebox. Her arms were outstretched and her head was tilted back, swaying slowly from side to side. Cee watched the woman who seemed caught up in the rhythm, and then turned back to the bartender, who still stood before him. Cee motioned with his face.

Don’t know. First time I’ve ever seen her here. She’s a good-looking broad, though. I’d fuck her.

Cee ignored the comment and looked at the woman again. She was in the exact same position, head still swaying smooth and slow. The vision of Vickie made him turn back around and down his drink in one gulp. Then he pulled out a Newport.

The liquid heat relaxed Cee. By the time he stubbed out his cigarette, the rush from the double shot had him a little tipsy, so he lifted a finger. As the bartender served him two more shots, a calm was felt in the room full of strangers, like a welcome for the days to come. Cee heard the song repeat again.

He dropped his chin to chest and let out one final breath to that bitch Vickie’s memory. He pulled out another cigarette from the half pack on the table, held between two fingers and grabbed the shot glass. His head dropped back and the liquor drained straight to his stomach. When the glass landed on the bar top with a little more force than he intended, the words shot right into his ear, Everybody in here must know that I don’t do bars. Cee flinched, but caught himself before he jumped. It was as if the sound was inside of his head. He felt no breath. The words were spoken quickly while managing a silky flow that broke barriers and got into you. It made him want to hear more.

A man could look into a woman’s eyes purposely, with his built up facade as motivation. But, when a woman’s stare catches a man by surprise, the result is always the truth. When a man’s inhale was in sync with a woman’s exhale, that truth is always in its purest form. What Cee experienced was concentrated. A natural scent with an immediate chemistry, nothing short of perfection. Almost like magic... a Black Magic Woman. Cee was cool and his swagger proved as much. Even when he was still, you could tell he knew what he was doing. Cee’s problem was that he had no direction. What’s that?

I said that everybody in here must know that I don’t do bars. Her eyes were full of life. She was too much for this place. Her chocolate skin appeared darker within the dim glow of the bar’s lights. Mystery filled that stare, a dare... enter at your own risk.

Cee blinked. Why you say that?

Because this is the first time I’ve ever been in a bar and I can tell it’s your first time, too.

You think so?

She didn’t answer, only continued. We’re like two virgins. Two people who are doing the same thing for the first time for two totally different reasons. The woman got up from the bar stool. Before she walked away, she added, Do you think that means we’ll always remember each other? She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned, walked back to the jukebox, and resumed her position.

If it weren’t real, if he hadn’t watched her walk away, it would have been like their brief discussion never took place.

Chapter Three

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The next day, Cee got off the train at the Nevins Station and walked down Fulton Street until he got to his block. As he approached his parent’s building he pulled his .38 Snub. With the gun concealed in his palm, Cee kept his movements regular. He checked the scene behind him and across the street before he stopped at the gate. He swung the gate open, headed straight toward the garbage can, and lifted the lid to stash the weapon. Afterwards, Cee walked up the porch steps and rang the bell.

The man who answered was a twenty-year-later image of Cee. He had a few strands of gray in his goatee, and salt and pepper waves spun in his head. Antwon Jackson was a late eighties Decep’ and ex-hustla who was into all kinds of shit from train robberies to sixty man brawls at spots like the Showboat, The Muse, Exit, and several other clubs. He’d been into more gunplay than the average thug and sported a trademark scar from behind his ear to the middle of his throat. The man was settled now, a ten-year veteran as a transit worker with a properly equipped Nissan Maxima, a new mortgage, and the type of fallback life that Cee refused to have any part of.

What up, pop?

Antwon looked his son over. You put that shit up, right?

Yeah, man.

Yeah, man, what? You know I don’t care about none of that shit, but your mother...

I know, pop.

Get in here. Antwon turned and walked into the house. Karen, Cee’s home.

Charles? the voice shrieked from the rear of the house, most likely the kitchen.

Hey, ma. Cee stopped in the hall and took another look at the baby pictures that lined the walls. He felt comfortable at his parents’ home, always welcomed, but chose to rarely visit. He couldn’t place what the reason was, but thought it might be the aura of permanence the place represented. The exact opposite to the type of person he was.

Cee walked into the living room just as his mother walked in from the kitchen. You better not have no guns in my house, Charles Jackson!

Ma that was only one time. I told you, it wasn’t mine...

Don’t lie to me. I can tell when you lie. You got the same look your father had when he was your age. Don’t make me search you, boy.  Cee lifted his shirt. Once his mother was sure he was clean, she walked over to him and hugged him hard.

Cee’s mother was beautiful at thirty-nine. Not a strand of gray in her shoulder length hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. After she kissed her son’s cheek, those hazel eyes of hers looked into Cee’s. When are you gonna stop this and come home? We got your room all set up.

"I can’t do that, ma. I’m all