7
_______________
Clyde was dressed all in black as he staked out an uptown cat named Sugar Bear, who was from 142nd between Lenox and Seventh avenues. Sugar Bearâs crew was clocking major dough 24/7 on the crack tip. He had an old-school Harlem mentality, which meant that he had to flaunt and floss at all times. In fact, he drove a different car every week. Sugar Bear was big, black, and built like a small sumo wrestler. If it werenât for his round midsection, he would have been considered muscular. He was especially nice with the hands and was known to knock niggas out with one punch. Fridays and Saturdays were his nights to trick, and he loved freaky, scandalous young girls, the nastier the better. His MO was to pick them up from bars or clubs and flash thick wads of money in front of them to entice them and then take them to a local motel for sex. He was very hard to please and would try to convince them to let him have anal sex as an incentive for more money. When they declined, he would force himself on them, which turned him on even more.
Clyde had already stolen a car for the job that night and was staked out in front of a club on 126th Street between Park and Lexington. As he waited, slumped over in the car, not an hour had passed before Sugar Bear and a girl who looked no older than eighteen emerged from the club. It was on, Clyde thought.
Clyde kept a good distance away from Sugar Bearâs sparkling black Lexus coupe, as he drove at a steady pace uptown on Seventh Avenue. Just as Clyde thought he would do, Sugar Bear drove over the bridge and into the Bronx and headed toward Ford-ham Road to a motel near the Bronx Zoo. Perfect, Clyde thought, he didnât have to worry about any evening motel clerk getting a glimpse of his face. His only concern was the outdoor cameras.
When Sugar Bear pulled into the motel parking lot, Clyde slowed and parked on the street so the cameras wouldnât record him entering the lot. He watched as Sugar Bear emerged from his vehicle and went into the lobby of the motel to pay for the room. Clyde loaded his weapon with bullets and waited. About ten minutes later, he watched Sugarâs broad body step out of the office and walk toward his car. Sugar had extra pep in his step as he walked, probably anticipating the young piece of ass that he was surely about to slay. Sugar motioned for the girl to step out of the car and then from the backseat pulled out what appeared to be a brown bag. Clyde decided to wait at least an hour to allow Sugar to dull his senses with the alcohol and catch him at his weakest. Clyde had learned long ago to never sleep on a potential vic. He wanted to give himself any kind of edge over them so that it didnât turn out to be more than just a robbery; he didnât want it turning into a murder. After all, he was dealing with a big deadly street nigga, who didnât last this long in the game without learning a thing or two. Clyde had to be ready for anything.
Sugar Bear lay back lazily on the queen-size bed as he swallowed another cup of Rémy Martinâs 1738 cognac. He was undressed and had one hand on the cup and the other in his boxers.
âYeah, baby, let me see what that tight body look like. Take that shit off.â He stared lustfully at Keyshiaâs firm body as she gyrated herself into a sexual frenzy. She put her fingers down her half-open jeans and pulled them out and licked them like a lollipop. She stared at him with her slanted eyes and played coy.
âNow, you know how this works, baby, â Keyshia said, and licked her lips seductively. âMoney on the dresser makes this pussy wetter.â
Sugar smirked and said, âBitch, you ainât sayinâ nothinâ but a word.â He scooted his three hundredâplus pounds off the bed and reached in his jeans and pulled out three fat wads of money neatly stacked with rubber bands. With the zeal of a king, he said, âSo now whatâs
_______________
Clyde was dressed all in black as he staked out an uptown cat named Sugar Bear, who was from 142nd between Lenox and Seventh avenues. Sugar Bearâs crew was clocking major dough 24/7 on the crack tip. He had an old-school Harlem mentality, which meant that he had to flaunt and floss at all times. In fact, he drove a different car every week. Sugar Bear was big, black, and built like a small sumo wrestler. If it werenât for his round midsection, he would have been considered muscular. He was especially nice with the hands and was known to knock niggas out with one punch. Fridays and Saturdays were his nights to trick, and he loved freaky, scandalous young girls, the nastier the better. His MO was to pick them up from bars or clubs and flash thick wads of money in front of them to entice them and then take them to a local motel for sex. He was very hard to please and would try to convince them to let him have anal sex as an incentive for more money. When they declined, he would force himself on them, which turned him on even more.
Clyde had already stolen a car for the job that night and was staked out in front of a club on 126th Street between Park and Lexington. As he waited, slumped over in the car, not an hour had passed before Sugar Bear and a girl who looked no older than eighteen emerged from the club. It was on, Clyde thought.
Clyde kept a good distance away from Sugar Bearâs sparkling black Lexus coupe, as he drove at a steady pace uptown on Seventh Avenue. Just as Clyde thought he would do, Sugar Bear drove over the bridge and into the Bronx and headed toward Ford-ham Road to a motel near the Bronx Zoo. Perfect, Clyde thought, he didnât have to worry about any evening motel clerk getting a glimpse of his face. His only concern was the outdoor cameras.
When Sugar Bear pulled into the motel parking lot, Clyde slowed and parked on the street so the cameras wouldnât record him entering the lot. He watched as Sugar Bear emerged from his vehicle and went into the lobby of the motel to pay for the room. Clyde loaded his weapon with bullets and waited. About ten minutes later, he watched Sugarâs broad body step out of the office and walk toward his car. Sugar had extra pep in his step as he walked, probably anticipating the young piece of ass that he was surely about to slay. Sugar motioned for the girl to step out of the car and then from the backseat pulled out what appeared to be a brown bag. Clyde decided to wait at least an hour to allow Sugar to dull his senses with the alcohol and catch him at his weakest. Clyde had learned long ago to never sleep on a potential vic. He wanted to give himself any kind of edge over them so that it didnât turn out to be more than just a robbery; he didnât want it turning into a murder. After all, he was dealing with a big deadly street nigga, who didnât last this long in the game without learning a thing or two. Clyde had to be ready for anything.
Sugar Bear lay back lazily on the queen-size bed as he swallowed another cup of Rémy Martinâs 1738 cognac. He was undressed and had one hand on the cup and the other in his boxers.
âYeah, baby, let me see what that tight body look like. Take that shit off.â He stared lustfully at Keyshiaâs firm body as she gyrated herself into a sexual frenzy. She put her fingers down her half-open jeans and pulled them out and licked them like a lollipop. She stared at him with her slanted eyes and played coy.
âNow, you know how this works, baby, â Keyshia said, and licked her lips seductively. âMoney on the dresser makes this pussy wetter.â
Sugar smirked and said, âBitch, you ainât sayinâ nothinâ but a word.â He scooted his three hundredâplus pounds off the bed and reached in his jeans and pulled out three fat wads of money neatly stacked with rubber bands. With the zeal of a king, he said, âSo now whatâs
Similar Books
