Butterfly Bitch! Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Wahida Clark Presents Publishing

  60 Evergreen Place

  Suite 904

  East Orange, New Jersey 07018

  973-678-9982

  www.wclarkpublishing.com

  Copyright 2014 © by Michael A. Robinson

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Butterfly Bitch by Wahida Clark & Michael A. Robinson

  ISBN 13-digit 978-1-944992-43-9 (print)

  ISBN 13-digit 978-1-944992-44-6 (e-book)

  Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data:

  LCCN 2014904049

  1. transvestite 2. Thug Life 3. Thugs

  4. Check Fraud 5. Life Sentence Years

  6. Transgender 7. Drug dealers 8. Black Romance Novels 9. Sexual Abuse

  Cover design and layout by Nuance Art LLC

  Book design by [email protected]

  Proofreader Rosalind Hamilton

  Sr. Editor Linda Wilson

  Michael A. Robinson’s

  Acknowledgements

  I was in deep waters when it came down to writing this manuscript. So I want to give a shout out to Damien Amin Meadows, who not only inspired me to write Butterfly, but gave me the blueprint with his masterful and exciteful Convict’s Candy. Big Homie – you know you lit the torch for people enjoying books dealing with subject matters that people deem taboo. I just hope I have the skills to keep ‘Convict Candy’s legend alive. We spent hours hitting the yard and screaming door-to-door in the SHU at Loretto, PA with always one goal: how to pencil a good book and gracefully depict the raunchy details. Keep ya head up Amin.

  I have to give a shout out to my sister’s Neshay (Neehigh), Faith (Dookey), and Joy (Green Booty). Without ya’ll three’s love and support, I would have fallen apart. Ya’ll show me that blood is thicker than water, stronger than concrete, and more durable than eternity.

  You know I can’t forget about my spring-chicken Lachez & Tyshea. Lachez, we are bonded by that unique thing called love. You remember what I told you: “You cannot humble vanity!” You know I’ll never say that at you, but at those forces that are behind my incarceration. You know what I have endured and the people who tried to step on me. But it’s the samething: They can’t humble me. Love you Golden’ Girl.

  To my Big Brothers, Omar Kadafi & Arron. I owe ya’ll two everything; Omar- for making me sharp intellectually; and Arron- for making me tough. Real talk, ya’ll are like demigods in my eyes. Ain’t nothing we can’t make happen together.

  What about my cousins EJ & Joey! You two are more than extended family: we brothers. You know what it is. What up RaRa! We go back to Midtown Ave. in Carson CA. what up DGAF! What up Delamo! The Feds only took me out physically, but my heart is always there, AAAAh!

  To my two seeds- - sons its about strategizing success. Chill-out and watch your Pops pluck this chicken. Erica, we just had a bad start. But the race is measured by its finish, and we’re nowhere close to the finishline. You remember what my moms said.

  John Cornelious, T-Bone, Blue, Meeko, J, Joe Red, Barima what’s up Carson’s Finest. Yeah- when I touch down, let the Revolution begin. Jaban & Big Suge, ya’ll real niggas in my book.

  To Wahida Clark [WC]! The embodiment of Auset, [Isis] bringing together the dismemberment of the Blackman [Ausar Osiris] by creating a Movement that empowers them financially & intellectually.

  I’ll never begin to describe my appreciation for when you welcomed me to the fam ‘WCP’ and was there for me during my darkest hours. Let’s make history, because you gave me the best editor Maxine Thompson.

  Daddy, it wouldn’t be right if I wasn’t your spittenimage. “I’ll always love my momma.” Momma, I was your worst but your favorite. I miss you more. To my G-moms who’s always believed in me. Last but not least- to Phil and G-pops. R.I.P.

  This wouldn’t be right without a shot-out to the LGBT Community! Dudes incarcerated are praying earnestly peradventure a Butterfly would pop up – so they could turn it up a notch in here. Let them know—

  Don’t front. Because the Butterflies I’ve seen come thru here done turned these fools out. Who am I to judge? Enjoy!

  Wahida Clark’s

  Acknowledgements & Dedications

  This story is dedicated to Michael A. Robinson. Keep your head up and looking forward to you hitting the bricks!

  * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  To all of my readers on lock down.

  Enjoy this story!

  We have a lot more coming your way.

  Peace and Love

  Big-Big-Big, Special shout-out to the WCP Street and Home Team.

  Wahida Clark

  The Official Queen of

  Street Literature

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  How Would She Survive!

  Chapter Two

  The Arrival

  Chapter Three

  He had to conquer the world...

  Chapter Four

  The SHU Had Its Way Of Offering Solace

  Chapter Five

  To The Compound But Of Course

  Chapter Six

  Gay Bash

  Chapter Seven

  That's When He Found Out Where True Power Lies

  Chapter Eight

  Sosa

  Chapter Nine

  She Just Couldn’t Keep Her Eyes Off Him

  Chapter Ten

  The Making Of Greatness

  Chapter Eleven

  I cried my heart out.

  Chapter Twelve

  She Could Never Shake The Demons Of Her Past.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dreamy Eyes And Passion

  Chapter Fourteen

  Black Out

  Chapter Fifteen

  War On The Down

  Chapter Sixteen

  Knight With Shining Knives

  Chapter Seventeen

  Revenge, Revenge, Revenge!

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prison Dreams

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rendezvous Gone Wild

  Chapter Twenty

  Visitation, Meaning Family Feud, And Love!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trouble In The Camp

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Why does everybody die of HIV in this book!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Surprise, Surprise

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wings Of Wind

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Blossoming Calm

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I Have To Have Him

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Can’t Get You Out Of My Mind

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Fantasy

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rendezvous Point

  Jealous Passion…

  Chapter Thirty

  True Love Never Dies

  Where Is He?...

  If Truth Be Told…

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I’m Tired Of Prison

  Love's Like A Rollercoaster...

  Testing The Water…

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Make Up To . . . Busted

  Make-up Tips…

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Creamy Dreams

  Flight…

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Can I Forgive Him?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It Starts Out G
ood

  The Plan Unleashed . . . Phaze One…

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Dear John

  Those Who Accomplish to Plan, Plan to Accomplish…

  Out Of The Closet And On To The Floor…

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Down-Low Suspect

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The Day Was Naughty

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Naughty . . . Again And Again . . .

  Don’t Leave Him With Nothing…

  Chapter Forty

  And It Was As If—As If, He Had Never Left

  Back To Business…

  Chapter Forty-One

  Together Again

  Recruitment…

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Fed Up

  There Was Nothing Atwater Couldn’t Do…

  The Boss Is In The Building…

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ain’t Nothin’ Like The Old School

  Done By Design…

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It’s A Girl

  Jail Talk Versus Street Talk…

  It Was The Girlie Thing To Do…

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Who’s counterfeiting these checks?” the detective asked, sitting in a room filled with cigarette smoke.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Peyton’s whimpers worsened as the interview continued.

  “Aw, give me a break with the sad girl act. You could be facing some serious charges that we could easily drop if you give up your source.”

  A smile appeared on Peyton’s face once the detective said that. “You can drop the charges?”

  “That’s on the condition that you give us your source. We want to know who’s making these counterfeit checks.”

  Peyton stopped her tears from falling. This was the hardest decision she’d ever have to make. But once made, she had to make sure that everything fell into place.

  “Okay . . . Okay . . . I’ll give you my source.”

  “When?” the detective asked.

  “Please, can you give me a couple of days?”

  The detective looked up at his partner who had just lit up another Marlboro. His partner nodded. “Sure, you got a week.”

  That’s all she’d ever need.

  * * * * * *

  Summer almost missed the call she should have been expecting. It was no one other than her best friend.

  She rushed to answer the phone. “Peyton?”

  “Where are you? You should have been here.”

  “Hold your horses, bitch. I’m on my way.” Summer hung up and washed her face after she finished brushing her teeth. She listened to Rihanna on her iPod, mouthing along to the song “Diamonds.” Summer threw on a red spencer dress and some easy going flip-flops. One look in the mirror was all she needed to kick-start her day.

  Breathtaking . . .

  She flashed her porcelain smile, and she couldn’t believe there was so much resemblance between her and her favorite artist Rihanna, except that she had more luscious measurements: 36-22-40; but lacked the colored eyes. The other thing she shared with Rihanna was the sex appeal.

  It hadn’t always been that way.

  Summer hopped in her Range Rover truck that her uncle Kevin had bought her, and bee-lined it to Peyton’s apartment across town.

  Washington, DC at this time of the day had the worst traffic.

  Peyton came out on the first honk of the horn wearing Michael Kors sandals with highlights of lime that went well with the lime green Bongo watch. She carried a cream Aldo bag. Candies’ sunglasses hid her eyes. Summer’s little white friend was fly. The graphic design Mill dress accentuated the soft touches of her curves.

  “Come on, girl! We’re running late,” Peyton said.

  “You need to hurry up and get your car out of the shop,” Summer replied.

  Peyton rolled her eyes. Their friendship had seen better days. Summer had, had a tragic breakup with Peyton’s cousin, Clayton, who had beaten her nearly to death. Afterward, they just never had the same connection as friends.

  Their photo shoot was in Hyattsville, Maryland. When they pulled up to the warehouse, a dark van swerved alongside Summer’s truck as she parked, and three guys hopped out waving shotguns.

  “Get out the truck, bitch!” one of the masked gunmen said as he leveled the double barrel shotgun in Summer’s face.

  It took everything in Summer’s power not to faint, and she immediately started to sob. “I don’t wanna die! Please don’t kill me! I have some money in my purse!”

  One of the other masked gunmen who was pulling Peyton around from the other side of the truck said, “Bitch, do you have eighty thousand dollars in your purse?”

  “I’m gonna die!” Summer cried, realizing she only had $800 in her purse.

  “Shut the fuck up!” the masked gunman yelled.

  It only took seconds before Summer heard Peyton being smacked to the ground.

  “Where’s Ellis’ money? You think you can play with somebody like Ellis? Bitch, you’ll watch all your friends die first.”

  “I’m gonna get it,” Peyton managed to say. But before she could finish, one of the masked gunmen was already flinging stuff out of Summer’s purse. That was until he found Summer’s ID.

  “By midnight, if you don’t have that eighty grand, I’m going to kill your girlfriend, and then tomorrow we’ll find somebody else close to you to kill. Maybe your cousin, Clayton.”

  “No! Don’t kill my friend.”

  “Well then, get that money!”

  The masked man showed Sumner her own ID, as if she didn’t believe he had it. With one last shove to the ground where Summer nearly lost her porcelain smile, the three armed gunmen hopped in the van and skirted off.

  “I’m gonna die!” Summer kept saying through sobs. There was no way in hell that she could go through with her photo shoot. If those guys were telling the truth, they’d never have to worry about a photo shoot ever again.

  Everything dawned on Summer as Peyton tried to hug her. She pushed her away but then tried to claw her eyes out. “They’re gonna kill me because of you!”

  Peyton was quicker than she looked. She jumped back and held her hands out in complete submission.

  “Summer, wait! We can get the money. You know how to get the money. We can have it by nightfall.” Peyton kept a fair distance as Summer neared her.

  “I can’t ask my uncle? I told you the situation between us.”

  “You know what I mean, Summer. We only have a little while left.”

  “You want me to cash some checks? Are you crazy! I nearly died the last time when I almost got caught.”

  “You’re my only chance.”

  “It’s your own fault; all you do is gamble. I can’t believe you went to a loan shark like Ellis. He would rather clean his books with bullets than to be owed.”

  “Help me please!” Peyton begged.

  Summer went back to her Range Rover and sat down. She couldn’t believe she was getting pulled into something she promised herself she’d never do again: bank fraud. But the more she saw the tears sprouting from her friend’s eyes, and the promise of death lingering overhead, her decision was easy to make.

  “Get in the car.”

  * * * * * *

  Damn . . . Damn . . . Damn . . . Summer thought as she bee-lined it back to her apartment. She made one quick stop at Office Depot to get the specific set of checks she needed: payroll checks. She had been doing the scam for years until her tumultuous relationship with the love of her life, Clayton had come to an end, and she moved back to town.

  But Summer didn’t have any of her fraud ware on hand, and she’d have to go and get everything together.

  She couldn’t even look at Peyton as she got back in the truck after leaving Office Depot. The most she ever made cashing checks was eight to ten G’s in one day. It was impossible in her mind to pull off ten times that much. But only if she could get enough good paper.<
br />
  Summer stared ahead, but she told Peyton, “I’m gonna drop you off at your apartment. Put on a nice, classy business suit and break out a briefcase. In about an hour, I’ll come back and pick you up.”

  Peyton still had a shimmer of tears and a dash of fear in her eyes that lightened once she realized Summer would help her. “Thank you.”

  Summer took a deep breath. She couldn’t be mad at her friend. “Don’t worry. We’ll have it by nightfall.”

  After leaving Peyton’s apartment, she had to kick everything into gear. She had to get the account numbers from a guy she hadn’t spoken to in six months, then go back to her apartment, make the checks, and then go and cash them. But there was a big glitch in her program. She didn’t know if Glen, whom she hadn’t spoken to in six months, would give her the account numbers. And that’s why she was headed to her house instead of the bank.

  She went into the house and quickly dressed in the sluttiest mini-dress in her closet. Then she put on foundation and the reddest lipstick she could find. Black eyeliner darkened her eyelids, and she pulled her hair into a neat ponytail. Damn, she needed her stylist, but this would have to do.

  She kicked her flip flops off for a more seductive pair of Narcisco Rodriguez wedges that stuck her fine ass up for display, and then she headed straight for the door as she made the phone call she said she’d never make again.

  Glen picked up on the second ring.

  Summer was already hightailing it to his office, and it didn’t matter what he said because by the end of the phone call she would have those much needed account numbers.

  “What do you need, Butterfly?” His voice was flat, but after six months he didn’t need her to ask or say anything to know she needed something.

  “Glen . . . Hey. I wanted to call you because I haven’t heard from you.”

  Glen smirked as he looked off to the side. He still wondered about Butterfly, who had all but pushed him away after he expressed his love for her.

  “Are you still having nightmares?” Glen asked.

  His inquiry was like a punch in Summer’s gut. She figured he’d forgotten that. She’d been having them for as long as she could remember.

  “I need to see you,” she said, ignoring his question.

  “Not now. I’m very busy.” He couldn’t have known that Summer was pulling up outside his law practice. She slid into the vacant parking spot next to his BMW and blatantly honked the horn. “Who the hell is that?” Glen asked.