Apple Brown Betty by Phillip Thomas Duck Read Free Book Online

Cydney’s Essence magazines. And now that Cydney had given him some quick pointers on making himself more presentable to that caliber of female, he’d do more than just watch Theresa walk from her car to Patterson Auditorium at Mainland University. He’d place himself strategically by those large bushes right outside the entrance and when she moved to pass, he’d strike up a conversation. Dazzle her by mentioning the title of that book his sister told him about. Hopefully, Theresa wouldn’t press him about the book, because he couldn’t remember how Cydney said it ended. Maybe he’d give Cydney a call later and have her run through it one more time.
    Out of the shadows from across the street, Slay spied Tuffy headed his way, smoking on a cancer stick as usual. He had to admit that was one brash shorty. That’s why Slay used him for more and more of his side projects. It took serious guts to keep Slay waiting like this and Tuffy didn’t appear to have any hurry in his step.
    Tuffy came to the passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door. Slay turned down the volume on his stereo. “Hey, yo,” Slay said as Tuffy moved to get in. “Hold up, shorty. You can’t be tracking that dirt in my shit. And kill the smokes.”
    Tuffy looked down at his Timberlands. They were caked with grass, mud and sand.
    Slay clicked a button on his key chain; his trunk lid rose. “I got shopping bags back there, double something up to free a bag and put your boots in there. You can hold them on your lap.”
    Tuffy seemed irked, but wisely said nothing. Slay had to smile as he took in the look the boy gave him before he walked to the back of the car.
    Tuffy scanned the bags in the trunk: Victoria’s Secret; Macy’s; Bed, Bath & Beyond—everything all frilly and sweet scented. Dang if this Slay wasn’t a player. Tuffy pulled a lingerie set from the Vicki’s Secret bag, put it down with the lingerie set in the Macy’s bag and pulled off his unlaced Timberlands. He dropped his boots in the bag. He carefully closed the trunk and moved to get in the BMW, tossing his cigarette to the curb as he grabbed the door handle.
    â€œYou should have sat down in the car with your feet out, took off your boots, then bagged them,” Slay told him. “Your socks got a little dirt on them now. You still tracked some shit in here.”
    â€œMy bad,” Tuffy replied.
    Slay shook his head. “You’re late, too.” He knew Tuffy’s reply before it even came—My bad.
    Tuffy held up the shopping bag holding his Timbs. “You sure got a lotta stuff back there for the females.”
    Slay nodded. “Ladies like to look and smell nice. They like the feel of silk, and the smell of flowers on their skin,” Slay schooled him. “And more importantly, men like seeing them in that stuff. It makes them more willing to part with their hard-earned money.”
    â€œWell, you in, then,” Tuffy said. “S’like a mall back there.”
    True. But Slay had other business to attend to; he’d expound on the ladies some other time. He nodded to his dashboard. An early edition of the Asbury Park Press sat on the edge, folded back, a portion of the newspaper’s text highlighted in yellow. Tuffy picked up the paper and looked over the text.
    The Monmouth County Prosecutor’s Office and the Asbury Park Police Department are requesting any assistance and information concerning the investigation into the murder of George A. Williams. On Saturday, October 3, 2002, George Williams, 56 years old and a longtime resident of Asbury Park, was discovered murdered along the boardwalk on Ocean Avenue, victim of three gunshots.
    George Williams. Slay’s stepfather. Not that Slay actually considered the man to be his stepfather. Just some dude that stole his mother’s and sister’s hearts.
    Tuffy placed the paper back on the dash, turned to