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

slowly slid down onto his erection. Menage gripped her tattooed butt cheeks, sliding deeper into her and enjoying every second.
    * * *
    Menage pulled into his driveway an hour later as the gate closed on its own. Vapor and Vigor came running from the backyard, begging for attention as soon as he stepped out of his truck. Entering his crib, he activated his answering machine by voice command as he made his way to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Throughout the entire mansion, the female computerized voice spoke in a soft tone: “Good evening, Mr. Legend. The time now is five twenty nine p.m. You have a total of three calls . . . Saturday, four ten p.m.—message one: Menage . . . baby, pick up . . . helloo . . . well, I guess you’re not in and you better know who this is . . . nah, just playing. The next call was played as Menage poured himself another glass of orange juice. Menage . . . baby pick up . . . helloo . . . well I guess you’re not in and you better know who this is, nah, just playing. Anyway, I just called to say I love you. I’ll call later, if I’m not in my dorm . . . just two-way me. Bye, love.” It was Chandra, and he felt guilty because he was out sleeping with a girl he didn’t even know while she was doing what she did best—loving him.
    The computerized voice spoke again: “Saturday, four twenty p.m.—message two: Boy, this is your mama! I told you about leaving all that loud rap stuff on this machine! Anyway, you need to call your nephew because he’s acting up in school again and if you come up here, bring some church clothes. I love you. Call me later.” Menage smiled. Vapor and Vigor shot out the door toward the backyard as a large flamingo landed on the picture-perfect lawn. They’d never catch it. “Saturday, five ten p.m.—message three: Bitch-ass nigga . . . yeah, you can be touched up again, so don’t get caught slippin’ . . . you marked, nigga! End of messages.”
    The last message caused Menage to nearly choke on his drink. He could count the people on one hand that had the number to his crib. He played the message twice more to see if he could recognize the voice. Shit wasn’t right. Whoever it was, was now touching too close to home. He wasn’t used to feeling paranoid in his own crib, and he thought that maybe it was the weed. He went into his bedroom to a hidden stash spot in his walk-in closet. Vapor and Vigor were now back in the mansion. Facing the Rottweilers, he looked them both in the eye. With a closed fist he hit his chest twice, giving them the silent command to go on guard. Vapor and Vigor wouldn’t let anyone on the estate and would attack with or without Menage around and would do so until an additional command was given. Vigor swiftly ran out of the bedroom and went outside, as Vapor took off to check the other three bedrooms and three bathrooms, which he inspected thoroughly, entering each room grinding his teeth. He then came back to his owner and watched his every step. Menage took off the safety of his H & K Mp5 tactical assault rifle and went back into the living room with a full thirty-round clip. A black bulletproof vest now covered the tank top he wore. By voice command, he called up the surveillance channel on his eighty-inch plasma screen TV that showed all surveillance shots simultaneously. Menage gripped the customfitted rubber grip and finally realized how close he came to being six feet deep. And now some fool had his home number. He was supposed to be safe in his own home—not walking around wearing a vest and carrying a loaded Mp5. Fuck it . He sure as hell wasn’t going to call the police . . . picture that.
    Menage studied the screen. Everything looked clear and when Vigor trotted in moments later, he knew that outside was clear. The two dogs rubbed noses, then sat down on either side of Menage. “It’s gonna to be a long day,