The cops pulled up to the apartment in less than 10 minutes. Being that Rayquans apartment was in the projects, they were right around the corner.
When they questioned me, I was only in my towel. I didn't wanna leave Carl's unconscious ass in another room, not knowing how long he'd stay knocked out.
They ended up dragging his sleepy ass out of the apartment in cuffs, somewhat giving me a piece of mind knowing he was no longer here.
"Ma'am, did you wanna ride with us to the station to press charges." A white, female cop, gently asked me.
Still a little tense, I shook my head no. I was still wondering where Rayquan was.
"No, I'm fine. I'd just like to find my boyfriend. I got a weird text from him. And then he texted me and told me not to go home yet." I confessed, pulling out my phone and showing the officer.
The officers shared a look.
"Is your boyfriend Rayquan Lewis?" The male cop asked. He was a brother. A fine one at that. He resembled Will Smith's delicious ass.
I nodded quickly.
"Um, ma'am. There was a really crazy shooting about a half hour ago. Mr. Lewis was struck in the head and didn't survive." The Will Smith lookalike tells me.
No tears came down. I didn't feel a rush of emotions. There was no grief, no mourning. I was completely numb.
"His family members are on their way to take over ownership of the body if you wanted to meet them over at the county morgue." He continues.
I shook my head. "No, thank you."
After the officers finished up their paperwork and left, I sat down on the living room couch.
19 years old and I'm going through this shit. No parents, a shitty job, and now a dead boyfriend. Where was I going to stay? The rent was due next week and that'd make a dent in what I had saved for sure.
But even after that, I wouldn't be able to afford anything the third month, especially working at the diner.
Tootsies.
I slipped into a distressed jean mini skirt, a pink tank top, and basic sandals. My hair was in loose curls down my back.
The walk to tootsies seemed short af. I'd try to talk myself out of doing what I was about to do but I needed the money.
The neon lights burned a hole through my sole as I stood outside the front doors, my eyes locked onto the red velvet rope that kept me out.
"You lost sweetheart?" A dark voice wondered. Following the voice, it led me to an overweight man wearing all black. I assumed he was the bouncer.
"Um, no. I'm looking for the owner or manager. I want to work here." I choked out.
The bouncer sized me up. Analyzing my appearance and even circling around me a few times before he eventually ushered me inside.
The strip club was much more than I expected. Bright lights strobed the club as Futures 'Blow A Bag' blasted through the clubs speakers. The ladies walked around wearing strings and gave lap dances to a few stragglers in the club.
The bouncer sat me in a skybox styled office. The glass windows gave view to the entire club. Not too shabby.
The door slammed closed behind me, causing me to jump. My eyes locked onto the fool who had slammed the door. It was a Caucasian man wearing a grey business suit. He's the manager?
He was actually kind of cute. A Chad Michael Murray looking man.
"Hello, I'm Mack." The man walked over to me and shook my hand. "Nice to meet you. My name is Karma." I say.
Mack laughs a little. "Is that your dancing name?"
Taken aback, I scrunch up my face. "No. That's my birth name." I confirm.
"Wow. Guess it's up to you whether or not you want an alias here." Mack replies, walking back over to his desk so now we were across from each other.
I smiled awkwardly.
"Isaiah already said you were pretty sexy but I need to be the judge of that. So stand up and spin around slowly for me." Mack demands.
That was pretty simple. I did as I was told.
"Okay, okay. Now I just need you to talk to me for a little bit. Tell me about yourself. How old are you and why do you want to be a stripper?"
Taking a deep breath, I began my very short testimony. "I'm nineteen years old and I really need the money." Hey, I'm being honest.
Mack stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he shrugged and pulled out a yellow envelope, sliding it over to me.
"Fill these papers out and bring them back tomorrow at 6pm so you can start. You'll a few outfits also," Mack tells me, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handing it over to me.
"My wife makes clothes for the other dancers here. That's her shop. Tell her I sent you." Mack smiles, opening the door for me to head out.
"Thank you," I say.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
