Love Trumps Game by D.Y. Phillips

touch a damn thing without washing his hands all fucking day. Not even pussy. Hell, he almost washed the black off his ass, he washed so much. You need to check on some meds.”
    â€œMedication?”
    â€œFor real, my nigga. Medication works.”
    â€œAnd what would my affliction be, Slick?” Insulted, Topps’ expression turned serious. “What, you saying I’m weak now?”
    â€œHell no. Hey, man, I’m just try’n to help. Damn, stop being so sensitive and twisting my shit up.”
    â€œFuck it!” Topps was clearly irritated. He couldn’t stop thinking about Neema and how she kept trying to play him. Always lying to him. Always begging for more money. Probably still stealing from him, too. He had to do something about her. Make her an example so others could see that he didn’t play. “I’ma slide outta here. Got some business to take care of. You know what to do, if you need me.”
    â€œNo problem. I’ma hold things down ’til close-up. It’s drop day, you know. We got major paper coming in. But I’ll swing by your place first thing in the morning with profits.”
    â€œSounds tight. I’m out.”
    The two knocked knuckles before Topps headed for the door. Disappointment with Neema had his shoulders slumped. Seemed like the more he tried to trust her, the more she proved that she couldn’t be trusted. At least he had Slick. Slick was his man, his ace, his dawg. It felt good to have at least one person that he could expose his back to.
    â€œYo’, dawg,” Slick called behind him. “Whatever you do, don’t be too hard on her. Neema is just being Neema.”
    â€œNah. I wouldn’t do my son’s mama like that. Still, I’ma deal with her. That’s word. Later.”
    It wouldn’t be right to pop his own son’s mother over some money. When his son was old enough, he would be next in line to fill his shoes. Thoughts of Brandon made him smile. Already the boy was showing signs of being hardcore and fearless. He dug that shit big time. Maybe he’d slide by Hattie’s place again to see his kids before heading to the crib to wait on Neema. Nah. Neema first.

SEVEN
    T en seconds after her doorbell rang, Neema Jean ran to it and looked out the peephole. The neighborhood where she lived wasn’t the best. Plus, she had to make sure that it wasn’t her mother or that pesky sister of hers, trying to bring her brats back home. Good. It was her home girl, Kaykay.
    Neema unlocked and swung the door open for her. “What’s up, my homie?”
    â€œDid you get it?” Kaykay asked, waiting with hungry eyes.
    â€œHell yeah, I got it, and damn it’s good.” Once Kaykay stepped inside, Neema closed the door behind her. “Didn’t think you were coming, so I started without you. It’s some of his best.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m talking about. Let’s get this party going then.”
    â€œOoh, I forgot. Shit, lock my damn door behind you. Can’t have Topps sneaking up on a sistah before we can get our head right.”
    â€œI know that’s right,” Kaykay agreed, turning the deadbolt. Truth be told, if she never saw Topps Jackson again in life it would be too soon. She’d been around the man on several occasions and from what she’d observed, he had a temper like a firecracker that sizzled before going bang. She’d seen it with her own eyes, how he could beat a man down until he begged for his life. If he knew how Neema was topping off with his drugs, no telling what his crazy ass would do.
    â€œC’mon in. We can fly a few lines before I have to leave to square some business. That fool Topps got me on his damn clock. I should be on my way back already from my drop in Hollywood. I don’t feel like hearing his mouth today.”
    â€œHollywood? Dang, girl, I feel sorry for you. That’s too far for this time of