Big Juicy Lips Read Free

strained patience.
    “A long time,” he muttered.
    “How long!” she shouted.
    “Since we were kids.”
    “Don’t you think by now, I know what’s best for us?”
    Brick nodded.
    “Do you know how fuckin’ stupid you sound, talkin’ about robbing mufuckas? First of all, that shit is illegal. I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on doing any more time. Second, robbing niggas only brings in a coupla dollars—it’s unpredictable employment. I’m not psychic and neither are you. I can’t point out a mufucka and calculate how much he’s carrying in his pocket or how much loot he can withdraw from the ATM machine. But the hustle we got going on is bringing in a lot of cheese. I have a master plan that’s gonna have us rolling in dough. But you have to cooperate.”
    “I will,” he agreed.
    “I’m gonna put up a website, featuring you. After I get that going, we’ll be counting so much IRS-can’t-tax money, we’ll have to hire somebody to set up an offshore bank account for us.”
    Horror covered Brick’s face. “You wanna put me on a website?”
    “Do you know how many people we could reach, if your King Kong dong was presented online? The way we’re handling things is requiring a whole lot of unnecessary legwork. Once I get the website poppin’, the sky’s the limit,” she said proudly.
    “I don’t like that idea, Misty.”
    Misty was momentarily silent. Seething, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Oh, really? I guess you forgot where you came from.”
    “I didn’t forget.”
    “Nigga, who took up for you when the kids teased your ass in school?”
    “You did,” he mumbled, looking pained by the unpleasant and harsh shove down memory lane.
    “And who was standing next to you, cheering like a fuckin’ Laker Girl, the first time you had the heart to go upside a nigga’s head?”
    “You was, Misty, baby. You gave me the nerve to crack niggas’ heads.”
    “I damn sure did,” she snarled. “You were scared of your own shadow until I made you believe you could whip everybody’s ass.” She stared at him for a few moments. “Did I lie?”
    “No, you ain’t lie.”
    “How did me and you—two fourth-graders—manage to beat middle-school niggas out of their lunch money?”
    “’Cause you gave me my heart,” Brick admitted, looking resigned to having his image posted on a website.
    On a rant, Misty sucked in a big burst of air. “So, how come when I got locked up two years ago you couldn’t do shit for me or for your damn self? You almost starved to death when I got popped. But as soon as I got out, we started eating again, didn’t we?”
    Brick nodded, head held low. “True dat. You right.”
    “I hate to talk about Shane—God rest his soul—but Shane was supposed to be your boy—your best friend, but he didn’t look out for you. Shane was all about self—” Misty paused and swallowed. “The only other person he gave a fuck about was his twin, or so he claimed, but after what he did to Tariq, we now know Shane only cared about Shane.” Misty and Brick both went silent as they mused over the night Shane Batista’s twin brother, Tariq, was hit by a car and killed after witnessing Shane in bed with his wife, Janelle. Shane lost his mind and was never the same.
    Misty shook the memory away. “While I was doing that bid, you were ass-out, with nobody you could depend on.” Though she talked harshly of Shane, in her heart, she held no ill will toward him. In fact, she hated having to drag Shane’s name through the mud just to get through Brick’s thick skull.
    True, Shane was selfish as hell at times, but he also had a sweet, giving side. To know him was to love and hate him—it depended on how he wanted you to feel. If Shane Batista wanted something—he turned on the charm. If he didn’t need shit from you, he gave you his ass to kiss, which was why Misty had fallen hard for him, and had loved him until the day he died. Despite everything, she’d