He took the glass, his hand shaking, and she eased down next to him. He gulped the bourbon straight down, swallowed the ice too, like he needed it to cool off.
Squeezing up nice and close to him, she went, “What you readin’?”
Kyle could barely speak, he wanted it so bad. He went, “E-E-Ezekiel eigh-eighteen twenty-seven.”
“Ooh, that sounds nice,” Felicia said, puckering up her lips. “What it say?”
“N-nothing much, ma’am,” Kyle said. “Just that, um, uh, ‘When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.’ ”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds real pretty,” Felicia rubbed his leg-damn, he had a tent in his sweatpants already-then went, “You know, I go to church all the time too?”
“Really?”
She wanted to laugh in his face, but she had to keep this shit going.
“Yeah, I always sit up close, in the first row, so I can hear what the reverend say loud and clear. You know, I’m related to Dr. Martin Luther King?”
Damn, she wished she could take that shit back. Boy was from the south, might be some kind of racist or something.
But, nope, turned out it was the perfect way to go because he went, “Wow, Dr. King, that’s real impressive, ma’am. I’m a big, big fan. How’re you and the Reverend related?”
Shit-questions. She wasn’t expecting that.
“He was my mom’s cousin twice removed on my sister’s side. But he and my mom was real close-like brothers. I mean brother and sister.” Figuring she had to get off this subject real quick, she went, “You know what I like about you?” She was tickling his leg a little, happy to see that big tent coming up already in his pants-yeah, boy was ready to go campin’ all right. “You real polite, that’s what. Callin’ me ma’am all the time. I like that shit. Wanna know something else? You real pretty too.”
She almost said purty, but figured they were past that.
She grabbed the bible from him, tossed it onto the floor, and climbed on his body.
“Don’t worry none about your bible, honey chile. We can have our own, private bible class. I be Eve, you be Adam, and our asses are stuck in the Garden of Eden.”
“O-okay, ma’am,” he said. He could barely talk. Shit, he could barely breathe.
She grinded up against him, putting his face right between her titties, then said, “Ain’t there a snake in the garden of Eden?” and undid the snap on his Levi’s.
“H-hold up a second, ma’am,” Kyle said. “Ain’t you Max’s…I mean The M.A.X.’s girl?”
“Honey, I ain’t nobody’s girl,” Felicia said.
She got his pants down, then pulled his shirt up over his head. Then she took his Y-fronts down and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
She went, “Damn, boy, you are hung.”
And she wasn’t lying neither, like when she told all them pencil dicks that they got the biggest cocks she ever seen just to boost their egos and shit. Sometimes she even told Max he had a big one. Meanwhile, sometimes she couldn’t even feel the shit. He’d roll off her and go, “I’m done,” and she didn’t even know they was started yet.
But, Kyle, man, he was the real deal. She’d been with half the Knicks and most of the brothers in Canarsie and, shit, none of them had nothing on this white boy.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“Naw, thank you,” she said, and they got at it. She didn’t want him to shoot too soon, because those southern boys-even the gents like Kyle-turned real mean when that happened.
Felicia was letting loose, coming like the goddamn D-train, shrieking like a crack ho who’d had her shit taken away.
Meanwhile, Kyle was going, “Am I hurting you, ma’am?”
She just screamed at him, “You da man, you da man, you da man!”
When she finished up she turned over and let Kyle do his thing. When he blew he didn’t make a sound. Boy was too polite to make noise.
Sitting up on the couch after, Felicia went, “I ain’t been fucked like that in a long, long time, suga.”
Then she saw he was crying, big-ass tears going down his cheeks.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
He could hardly talk, he was crying so bad.
Then he went, “I’ve betrayed The M.A.X. What am I gonna do now?”
Boy was so messed up he didn’t even remember to call her ma’am.
She caressed his cheek, went, “Ain’t no power on earth can stop love, honey.”
“You really mean that? You…l-l-love me?”
“Why you think I’m here with you right now, baby? I ain’t usually the type of girl who gets with a man real quick, know what I’m sayin’?”
Lucky she wasn’t Pinnochio or her nose’d be blowing a hole through the door, past the elevators, out the damn building and shit.
Kyle said, “But The M.A.X. said that you’re a…a… a ho.”
“That’s bullshit,” Felicia said. “Don’t listen to anything Max be saying to you cause that man got his head inside his ass, know what I’m sayin’? I ain’t no ho. I’m just a woman, a lonely woman lookin’ for love, and now I found it.”
She saw his eyes well up and let him kiss her, trying not to laugh, then said, “You love me, too, don’t you? I can see you do. I can see it. And listen, baby, if you love somebody, you tell them everything. There ain’t no secrets. So why don’t you tell me where that drug deal’s gonna be at?”
“Can I ask why you want to know?”
She wanted to go, “No, you can’t,” but went with, “Cause I just like to know where my man be at, that’s all….You are my man, ain’t you?”
She saw the way he was looking at her and that was it, piece of cake. He told her everything she wanted to know about the drug deal-the time, the place, who was gonna be there, everything.
Then he said, all scared and shit, “You sure you won’t tell The M.A.X., ma’am? I mean, I know it’s no big deal and all, but I don’t think The M.A.X. would appreciate it if he knew I told you something I wasn’t supposed to.”
Yeah, Kyle had a big dick but Felicia had never seen a pussy like him her whole damn life. Never saw a sucker like him neither.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Be our own little secret.” Then she climbed back on him and she said, “You like Britney?” Kyle said yeah and she said, “Then what you waitin’ for? Hit me one more time, baby.”
Ten
Sideswipe
Joe Miscali was a good guy. You ask anyone and they’d go, “Joe? Yeah, he’s a good guy.” It seemed like everybody loved Joe and you had to wonder-where’s the flaw? what’s wrong with this picture? — since Joe was a cop and, yeah, a damn good one.
He’d worked out of the 19th Precent so long that they called him Joe Nineteen. Even the bad guys kinda had a soft spot for Joey Nineteen. He was divorced-sure, came with the doughnuts and the buzz haircut-but even his ex old lady had nothing but nice things to say about him. She’d go, Joe? Oh, yeah, Joe, he’s a good guy.
Joe didn’t work at being Mr. Nice. He was just one of those rarities, a good man in a bad situation.
He was built like a brick shithouse-pug face, broken-veined complexion, hands thick as shovels. A typical Joe Miscali outfit: polyester pants with a nylon shirt and a plaid sports coat. Note to Norman Mailer: Good guys wear plaid. He was born in Queens, loved the Mets, Jets and Nets. He watched re-runs of The Odd Couple, like, a lot. He loved to quote from the show, insert lines into casual conversation even if no one understood what the hell he was talking about. Silly, yeah, but Joe got a kick out of it.