A Hood Legend by Victor L. Martin Read Free Book Online

an unplugged Sega.” They began laughing hysterically.
    â€œNo play!” they simultaneously shouted.
    â€œLou ain’t about shit, but I’d be a fool to waste my time beefin’ with him. I got money to make. By the way, let me tell you what that nigga DJ did,” Menage said. He gave Dough-Low the short version about DJ and the out-of-state DB-7. They were about to go to the grill for seconds when a young girl about sixteen or seventeen walked up and ran her blue nails through Menage’s wild-looking afro.
    â€œLet me do your head. I can hook it up with a fly X & O pattern.” She sat on the table with him between her legs, doing just that in an hour flat and left a C-note richer. Revealing that she would be turning eighteen soon, she and Menage exchanged numbers and a few “what I’ma do to yous.”
    â€œI might need to give her a job at my salon,” Menage said as the girl pranced off wearing a smile.
    â€œYo, I heard Lou’s in a gang now,” Dough-Low said with a smirk. “But I wouldn’t give a damn if he was in the Cub Scouts! I told Li’l Coonk he was funny actin’. I’m waitin’ fo’ him to cross me. CD or not, I’ll blaze his ass and make him famous like 50!”
    â€œMore like Tupac, you mean,” Menage said knowing that Dough-Low didn’t usually aim to maim.
    â€œYo, Kamesa had some chickenhead she wanted you to holla at the other day.” Kamesa was Dough-Low’s shorty that stayed in Carol City. “Look, I gotta go hit the block, so holla at me later,” Dough-Low said and hopped into his Denali. Menage stayed a bit longer and kicked it with Li’l Coonk. Everybody was asking him about Lou. Fuck Lou.
    â€œWell, he ’bout to go to L.A. for a week. He leavin’ tonight,” was all Menage kept hearing.
    Menage glanced over at the windshield of the Cadillac XLR parked next to his SUV. On the hood sat a tall and slender female, clad in a white skimpy tank top and a pair of red boyshorts. He read the message on the top half of the windshield. It read DNNN. “What does DNNN mean?” he asked standing by the fender of her ride.
    She cocked her head to one side and without cracking a smile said, “Don’t need no nigga.” She said it good and slow, obviously wanting to make herself clear so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself.
    â€œSo I guess I can get your number, huh?” he said letting his eyes travel up and down her long, dark, hairless legs. Little did he know that she was Lou’s ex. She smacked her full lips and slid a strand of blonde weave behind her ear. She then stood up, her stiletto sandals increasing her height to five foot nine.
    â€œYou don’t get it, do you?” she said placing her hands on her hips.
    Menage could see her nipples pushing against the thin top. “Nah, not yet,” he said smiling. “You might not need a nigga but I know you want one, so what’s your name?” She rolled her eyes. Most of the time a brother would call her a bitch and move on, which made no difference to her. Menage was right; she didn’t need a man, but she sure as hell wanted one.
    â€œMy . . . name is Andrea,” she said blushing. The game was spit and they discovered that they both wanted the same thing—sex. Menage got into his ESV and followed Andrea to the room she had rented at The New Radisson Hotel. Andrea had a body like Eve, and he wondered if that was the reason she wore her clothing line. Once in the lavish hotel room, Menage untied the strings of Andrea’s tank top. He immediately began sucking on her breasts and helped her slide out of her boy-shorts. They fell onto the bed as they groped one another and Andrea began to nibble on Menage’s neck with her blood-red coated lips, leaving prints all over his body. Menage slipped on his jimmy and Andrea reached for his dick without hesitation. With her back to him, she