Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 8

C's exhaled the last of the chronic smoke from his nose and mouth. Leaning forward, he stamped out the lit roach in the ashtray. Ant coughed next to him still, choking from the last time he'd hit the Mary J. With the side of his fist, he pounded the middle of his chest, wheezing air in and out to catch his breath. C's shook his head. How many times had he told Ant not to toke the chronic like it was some regular Bobby Brown weed? The chronic was so potent, you didn't even need a Swisher or a Phillie. Hell you could smoke that shit with some, old school, Tops rolling papers, and get the same high as if you'd put four of the Bobby B's in the air.

Ignoring Ant's sputters next to him, his gaze slid to the entrance of the club. He could tell by the line of bodies trailing down the stairs that shit was rockin'. City Limits, Oldies but Goodies night, always drew a crowd. After twelve o'clock when the old heads finally took their asses home, the music changed from the tired Marvin Cease blues to the more current Rhythm & Blues, and Hip-Hop. That's when things got swangin'. Thugs and hoes flooded that bitch to get shit crackin'. There wasn't anything like the vibe he got once surrounded by such lethal vices. Alcohol, weed, and pussy, oh shit.

"Ready to go in that bitch, folk?" Ant asked, finally shaking the effects of the chronic.

C's answered by pushing the driver's door open, and stepping out. He glanced around the parking lot. Vatos were parking lot pimpin' like a motherfucker. Ant joined him on his side of the Chevy.

"There go Putt and Taz ass ducked off in the cut over there." Ant nodded his head in the direction of a purple candy painted El Camino. "Sheeit. And here they come too. Putt cool and all, but Taz..." Ant shook his head. "I can't stand his Moreno Mexican ass. One of these days that slick ass mouth of his is gonna get him dealt with."

"Sheeit." Hopping on the hood of the car, C's chuckled. "You'd get fly too, if your first cousin was Lorenzo Vargas, and he'd struck up an alliance to cover your ass," he said as he watched Putt and Taz approach.

Ant glowered, rubbing his hands together. "Humph. Yo' ass ain't said shit, niño." He held a fist out and C's pounded it.

"Que pasa, holmes," Putt slapped hands with C's, and then Ant.

Taz stood on the sidelines, wearing a shit eating grin, which set his back teeth on edge. Refusing to show him love, C's lifted his chin in acknowledgment instead. "Not a damn thing." His gaze returned to Putt. "Been a minute since yo' ass been out, vato. I know the Devil's spot gotta be icin' over tonight."

"Right." Putt slapped Taz on the back. "I let this motherfucka drag me out. He promised putas so here I motherfuckin' stand. You feel me, amigo?"

"Come on, hombre," C's said hoping off the Chevy. "This yo' boy, who has more bitches than me?" They began to walk to the entrance of the club.

"I hear ya," Taz said, winking at a chick standing in line. "Heard 'bout that shit in the mall today. Which one of yo' bitches set it off in Dillard's, Nike, or that chica Negra you've been chillin' with?" They bypassed the line, going straight to the door.

"Her name's Cleo motherfucka." Ant snapped, fist pumping at his sides."

"Damn, homey. My bad." Taz threw up his hands in front of him in defense, grillin' them with another one of his shit eating grins. "She with C's are you?"

C's slung his arm around Ant shoulders, to help keep his head level. "Fall back, niño. She my main so let that be the last time her name come out your mouth, compreder?"

"He got you, amigo. Isn't that right, primo?" Putt said, drilling Taz with a glare.

Taz only smirked in reply, while he held out his hands to get patted down by the bouncer. Once done he disappeared through entrance, taking two hoochies by the door with him, one under each arm.