Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick(16)
Kola was willing to travel into Brooklyn alone and talk business. She was from the streets and knew how to handle herself very well. Mike-Mike, usually her backup, was making an out-of-town run for Cross, but Kola felt secure enough to travel alone. She was used to it. Her name was known in Harlem, and nobody f*cked with her. She was an uptown girl—a Harlem chick—and her name had weight because of the dudes she rolled with. But Brooklyn was a different story. Out there, she was just an average pretty bitch with an attitude.
She told the driver, “Take me to Sunset Park.”
Without traffic, it was a thirty-minute drive through any of the bridges or tunnels that traveled into Brooklyn. Once Kola reached her destination, she handed the driver a crisp hundred-dollar bill to cover the fifty-dollar fare, leaving a generous tip.
The strip club, located off Fourth Avenue on a back street in Brooklyn, was in a second-floor loft, with tight security at the entrance. Kola strutted to the place in all her glory, looking twice her age and feeling confident about the night.
She approached the two beefy security guards and asked, “What’s the cover charge?”
The men looked at her, knowing she was a new face.
“You dancing?” one of them asked.
“Why you askin’?”
“Tip in is twenty-five,” the other stated.
Kola reached into her bag and gave the man two twenties. “You can keep that,” she said with a smirk.
“Oh, you a baller, huh?”
“I get mines.”
He chuckled and said, “A’ight, just watch your back out here.”
Kola smiled as he waved the wand across her body and searched through her purse for any illegal weapons.
When she was cleared, he said, “You good. Just go upstairs, second floor.”
Kola walked up the stairway in her steep heels and entered the dimmed room with rap music blaring and a crowd of patrons. She was impressed. The loft was huge and full of life, with a doorway that exited out into an open, elevated area that overlooked Brooklyn.
The raised stage had two naked big-booty strippers on it working hard for their dollars and was surrounded by men tossing money, that thirsty look on their faces. And the strippers had no shame in their game. They were working hard for their money.
Kola needed a drink. She looked around. The crowd and strippers were predominantly black, with a sprinkling of Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and whites.
One dude gently grabbed her by the arm and asked, “You dancing, love? I never saw you here before.”
Kola looked at him and wasn’t impressed. She’d been feeling men watching her the minute she’d stepped into the place, but this one looked like he needed to pay to get pu-ssy. Black and overweight, he had no style to him with his shapeless jeans and scruffy appearance, and his breath reeked. He had a Heineken in his hand and gazed at Kola as if longing for what he couldn’t have.
“No, thank you,” she politely replied, quickly moving herself away from him and walking closer to the stage.
Kola was looking around for a girl named Chyna Doll, who a male friend had put her up on. He let it be known to her that Chyna Doll was young and down for whatever, a freak, and a raving beauty with looks that many would kill for.
“Yo, Kola, this chick is off the hook, fo’ real,” the young kid had told her. “I’m telling you, she sucked my dick like gravity was in her mouth.”
Kola needed more than a freak. She needed an elite stable of young hoes like herself down for whatever. She had planned on putting together an event—a sex party where people would pay admission. With the right girls who had good pu-ssy and great head game, the men she invited would pay to play, and Kola needed the best.
She had talked to Kandy a few days ago, convincing her to try out one of her parties, and Kandy was down, especially after the dick-down she got from Mike-Mike. So Kola was after the next female to fill her stable of professionals. She wanted the cream of the crop because she was going to hit muthaf*ckas with membership fees to join her party. She was about her money and business, and if you didn’t know how to work what your momma gave you, then she couldn’t use you.
Kola looked around the room and observed every naked or scantily clad ho in the place. Some were really nice and sexy with their swag, but a few girls struck her as washed up. She moved to the stage and took a seat in one of the soft leather chairs. She watched a big-booty girl clap her butt cheeks together and then bend over to expose her goodies. She began tipping the stripper with a few dollar bills.
The place was buzzing with activity from corner to corner—lap dances, wall dances, a lot of bumping and grinding, and tricks disappearing into the VIP rooms with their stripper of choice for the night.
Kola noticed a tall beauty with an erotic aura stepping out of the dressing room. Scantily clad in a black baby doll dress that had sheer mesh with a sequined lace hem, cut-out sides, and twin straps, her rich caramel skin seemed to glow with sexiness. Her knee-high leather stilettos seemed to make her almost touch the sky, and her two long pigtails gave her that naughty-schoolgirl look.
Kola kept her eyes fixated on the girl during her long stride from the dressing room to the stage. She walked with confidence, her exotic, chinky eyes scanning the crowd for potential tricks for the night. Kola already liked her style because the girl portrayed herself as that bitch in the room.
Kola knew that had to be Chyna Doll, because everything about her screamed “confident.” She watched the girl work the stage to Usher’s “There Goes My Baby.” She had a presence about her that made almost every eye in the room stay glued on her.