The Legend of Micah Zula

                        It took some time to get used to it, but once I had the rhythm of the stroke, there was no stopping me. Day in, day out I was consumed by it. The very thought of doing it again brought out the slyest of grins and sometimes an uncharacteristic giggle.  Of course, there were other things to occupy my mind, reading, movies, music and such, and there were always much bigger things at hand, but this……….this was the ultimate.  It made my blood flow, my knees weak and my heart race.  Each moment no matter how brief, brought a sense of excitement that nothing else could match. An adrenaline rush like nothing I’d ever felt.  Those who know me argue that my lust knows no bounds and that I couldn’t possibly remember every encounter, but they are wrong.  Every millisecond of every encounter is embedded in my brain down to the minutest of details. Long slow strokes to short powerful thrusts, I made it my business to master the art form. Adding a move here, finding new angles there. Like a woman possessed I worked tirelessly, perfecting my technique.  It didn’t just have to be good it had to be right. Anything less than perfection would not be tolerated, I was truly obsessed……. 

And like any true artist I strived for excellence and often succeeded, though I must confess to rarely being truly satisfied by my own work. There is the guilt factor of course that remorseful “why did I do that?” feeling. Lucky for me it never lasts more than a second or two…..

I’ve always hated to watch especially if I had no other choice.  Sometimes when you’re working with multiple partners there’s just nothing else to do.  So I’d watch carefully even if I’d rather be all in getting dirty. Just sit and wait my turn, if I even got one. Though I must confess I hated getting in after someone else.  I‘ve always been a one on one kinda girl, I’m just old fashioned that way. The look in the eyes, the feel of the flesh, the smell of it, the taste of it ….its all so magnificent, so lovely, so godlike.  This is the stuff that makes life worth living, at the very least it’s what makes my life livable. .  I’ve had many lovers over the years and though many have come close, not a single one has ever matched the intensity, and raw passion of a fresh kill.

 

    Quan was my first, I was only 15 then.    Killing Quan was the hardest, and the easiest. Easy because he truly deserved it, he practically begged for it.  It was hard, because he was the first.  I never really knew what to expect.  There was so much blood, I think I drained him completely.  I made so many mistakes.

My timing was off, my aim was just as bad, and the disposal all too time consuming.  But like any other skill practice makes perfect.  I don’t beat myself up about it, he was my first after all.  The killing instinct came as natural to me as breathing. He stole from me and had to be dealt with, quick. I was just starting out then, fresh and green, full of bright ideas and big dreams.  I was too smart for my own damn good. I was young and dumb but even I knew that in life you can’t just let shit like that go.  Once you do, you may as well hang it up, or every time you eat you’ll be feeding someone else.  I hate fucking bottom feeders, their big lazy asses, lounging around, and waiting for someone weaker to come along.  They get fat on your hard work while you suffer and grow thin.  Every day you grow weak and weary from the pressure of having to pull your weight and theirs. Life was hard enough to deal with and being a bitch didn’t make it any easier. You would think as ostentatious as my vocabulary is I’d find a better word, but nothing rolls off the tongue quite like a well placed Bitch…….its a classic! Besides I find that with most people the filthier your language the more they seem to listen.  There something so profound about a well placed curse word……….its almost like music.  But I digress, back to the story at hand.

Life was somewhat easier for the pretty bitches, especially if they had low self esteem.  There’s a reason why whoring is the oldest profession, laying flat on your back takes very little skill.  Even if they weren’t so pretty, if they learned how to work what they had somehow they managed to get along just fine.  In the end what was a lap dance or a blow job anyway? You got paid the customer got laid and you all went home better for the experience, right? Well, that was most girls hustle.  Girls weren’t supposed to sling rocks like the boys. Girls weren’t expected to be ruthless. We couldn’t be killers.  If you didn’t want to fuck you could help with the manufacturing, or be the bait for some horny target, to earn a few extra crumbs. If you were really good at the hustle you latched on to one of the big boys and made yourself indispensible, but even that was sometimes a temporary arrangement. Either, he got bored or she got sloppy, suddenly indispensible became easily replaced. Good bitches kept their mouths closed and legs wide open at all times. They weren’t allowed behind the curtain to pull the strings.  Most were kept around just for amusement and the occasional naked wrestling match. I wasn’t going out like that.    To get anywhere you gotta do it yourself. Unless you’re in charge, whatever you’re taking home is shit.  The real bread is in upper management, ownership.  Unfortunately for the testosterone deficient, organized crime was an all boys club.  One or two butch females may have rounded out a crew, but the boys got noticed.  The boys became legends.  The bitches in the game were just foot notes, honorable mentions.  That was until I changed the game.

In any racket whether its fashion, commodities, securities or dope it’s the workers that keep it afloat but never get rich. The workers did the labor but management got the power and respect.  As long as they kept the work coming in, no one complained.  That’s where I needed to be, Upper management. Not toiling away in some sweatshop, making some asshole rich.  I wasn’t going to be any body’s bottom feeder.  I wasn’t going to waste my existence being a host to one either.  I was going be royalty. Fuck, settling for upper management.  I wanted it all, but getting to the top took time and patience.  I had to start at the bottom like all the others before me. 

In the Bronx, the man to know was Tony Magic. As far as I knew, He was a low level hood but knew talent when he saw it.  Rumor had it that many legends had gotten their start under him.  Most had moved on up but Tony stayed put.  He was comfortable.  Why wouldn’t he be? He literally got paid to sit on his ass all day and complain.  He sent his soldiers to do his dirty work and rarely had to leave his apartment.  From what I had heard He was a disgusting slob who skimmed from the top and abused his workers, but he was so below the radar no one up top really cared what he did, as long as the dope was paid for and the hoes were kept in line.  He was king of the bottom feeders. The one gift he had was the Midas touch.  It was said that everyone he put on moved up.  Working for him was like boot camp, preparation for the big leagues.  Well, for the real hustlers anyway.  The real hustlers just hung around long enough to get connected then moved on to run their own spots. The low level hoods stayed at the bottom with Tony, happy to work a 9 to 5 and the corner just to have an extra buck or two. It was never enough for anything worthwhile but just enough to keep you working.  Most just worked for Tony for the street cred.  Rolling with him was like instant celebrity status. Everyone knew Tony and if Tony knew you, then you were someone worth knowing. I still can’t fathom how such an idiot got so much respect.  I still wonder where in the hell all those rumors came from.

Tony’s operation was located in the heart of the South Bronx, CJ Walker Houses.  The Walk, as it’s known, is one of the most notorious in the city but it was the least patrolled. I guess NYPD thought we’d police ourselves. They left us to our own devices.  We were a lot like those indigenous tribes you see in National Geographic.  We had our own customs, rituals and as you would guess our own judge, jury and executioner.  We were a world of our own.  Crime ran rampant in our little corner of the city and Tony was the center of it all. Thinking back, He must have known he was in the presence of greatness when he met me back then.  I still remember that warm spring day back in 82.  I was 15 going on 50, as mom used to say.  I was stubborn, reckless and bold back then. What am I saying, I still am! As bold as I wanted to be, I went straight up to his penthouse in building 330. That was a dangerous move on my part.  As I’ve said before we had our own rules and showing up unannounced and unknown was a major faux pas. Odds were I wouldn’t make it down in one piece or at the very least not as easily as I had made it up there. And with Tony’s well known predilection for young meat it was more than possible to leave without my hymen or my dignity intact.

My best friend Lou was supposed to escort me, but as usual chickened out at the last minute. We had been talking about this for months and as usual, Lou got cold feet.  He tried to change my mind with a barrage of questions.  I guess he thought the more he harassed me the less likely I would go through with it.

“What if he says no?”

“We try again”

“What if he beats us up?”

“You’ve been beat up before”

“What if he tries to rape you?”

“Gotta lose my virginity some time.”

“What if your parents find out?”

“They won’t”

         “What if we get killed?”

         “Gotta die sometime”

This went on and on until he ran out of questions or until I let him off the hook, whichever came first.  He may have changed his mind but mine was all made up. I was going upstairs, with or without him.  We agreed he’d walk me there and wait downstairs, if I wasn’t down in 15 minutes he’d come and get me.

“We should wait 30 minutes just to be sure”

“Sure why not, it only takes 5 to kill a person we’ll just give them the other 25 to dispose of the body”

“I’ll be your safety net”

“My night in shining armor….”

I knew he’d never come up with me.  Lou was my best friend but he was a chicken.  I knew he couldn’t protect me so I carried my own safety net.  If anyone gave me any trouble they’d taste my blade.

  I still can’t say for sure what possessed me to want this lifestyle so badly.  I wasn’t from a broken home.  My family loved me.  No one was abusing me. I just wanted the power I guess. The thought of having an almost mythical legacy was intoxicating. That was all I was after in the end.  Why anyone would knowingly risk life and limb for money alone has always been a mystery to me.  But fame, notoriety, that shit makes you immortal! Any fool with a good idea can make money but to be a legend?.... That was priceless.

      The entire elevator ride to the 15th floor Penthouse, I contemplated my moves.  I knew I had to be quick and to the point.  I had to make sure he knew who he was dealing with. I wasn’t taking no for an answer.  He would give me and el Pollo Negro downstairs a job.  This was not negotiable.  I stood there plotting and planning just to keep from pissing my pants.  I was terrified. All that bravado I had for Lou dissipated with the closing of the elevator doors.  I still remember the look on his face. That sullen look he always gave me when I was being reckless.  It was almost enough to make me reconsider.  Almost has never counted for much of anything where I’m from so I pressed onward.  I’ve always wondered if that fear in Lou’s eyes was for me or of me. Only old Lou would know for sure. 

I had a switchblade and a dream and no one was taking either without one hell of a fight. (I know it’s such a cliché, but who cares? It’s my story I’ll tell it how I want, so there!)  I was expecting security to meet me at the elevator but I guess Tony wasn’t that worried about protection.  He was a made man after all, and his ties ran deep enough to keep him safe.  He had family in all the right places and since most of management got their start under him, he was well protected. They thought they owed him. Everyone knew that if anything happened to Tony The Walk would go up in flames. Or at least that was the rumor. I got to the door without being followed or harassed. I knocked and waited. I was covered in sweat. I could barely breathe.  The seconds waiting were agonizing.  I thought about just running back to the elevator but my feet stayed planted.  I had to face my destiny.  I took a deep breath. The door opened. And there he was larger than life.  All 5 feet 2 inches of him.  I had only heard of the legend, having never seen him with my own eyes, this was unexpected.  5’2 and roughly 230 pounds he was a sight to see.  At five foot 10 inches I towered over his round frame and waited silently as he sized me up.  The only tell was the gold rope chain on his thick black neck.  It had to be nearly 2 inches thick and long enough to touch the top of his swollen stomach.  No one else in the hood could afford such luxuries.  He had to be Tony. The big little man in his faded blue boxers with what I guessed was the remnants from a recent and undoubtedly greasy meal smeared around his mouth and all over his protruding belly. Neither of us spoke.  I guess we were both surprised.  Somehow through all the gossip I had expected him to be as big as his name, but he was a damn oompaloompa. This should be interesting…..

“They already sent a bitch over but I guess I have room for one more.”  He said, while licking some substance off of his stubby little fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“You deaf? Come in, I hope you suck a dick better than this last bitch….”

I followed him inside and listened to him rattle on and on about bitches not knowing their place and my having to share a fee with the first chick since he hadn’t asked for two.  This little person was the legend?  This midget with the chauvinistic, man is god mentality?  This ugly little unkempt troll with the Napoleonic complex was king of the hood?  Walking around looking like a day old turd with his ashy little arms and legs, making his own calls and answering his own door? I made a mental note to correct that mistake once I was a boss. There was no way anyone would catch me slippin and this one was sure as hell slippin, I could have been an assassin for goodness sakes.



Rule number one in any situation was know your surroundings ( I hope you’re taking notes).  I surveyed the room like a hawk.  It wasn’t enough to know the exits you had to be aware of every stitch of furniture, appliance, potential weapon or being between you and the afore-mentioned getaway.  The big mistake people make is relying on just sight.  You need to use all your senses. I knew that even then.  I’d have used all my senses even if the stench hadn’t practically screamed for my attention. It was a strange mixture of weed, sweat, rotten fish and cheap perfume. And I swear I smelled, just a touch of desperation with a hint of hopeless and perhaps a dash of vanilla?  The smell seemed as though it permeated every inch of the dwelling, like it was seeping through the walls.  I hoped to god I didn’t smell like this when I left.  I looked around me there were people everywhere.  In the living room there were 2 couples on the couch groping and fondling each other. In front of them sat 2 mounds of coke on a coffee table going largely unused or noticed. 2 young bucks sat across from the lovers holding swollen crotches waiting their turn.  Beyond the couch there was a large round dining table surrounded by 6 chairs to the right of the table against the large picture window and terrace, two guys stood in a heated debate on whether Sheena Easton was a better lay than Janet Jackson. They were burning what smelled like low-grade mary-jane. Judging by the stench alone it was probably more seeds than substance.  All this happened in the presence of sweet little Angel, Tony’s 5 year old niece.  She sat on a stool at the kitchen island where her mom and aunt were showing her the right way to roll a joint. “Not too tight baby girl….”

Aaaah pearls of wisdom from generation to generation.  I’m sure she’s thankful for such sound advice especially at her age.  Honestly who wants to play with a toddler that can’t roll a good j? Think of her future!  I followed the waddling little man all the way to the back bedroom. The master suite was anything but sweet. I thought about my hard working parents living in their tiny little bedroom.  Each of them working 12 hour days, and even some weekends just to live in a room half this size while this fool lazed about all day fucking and getting high. How’s that for justice? 

Fast food cartons, cigarette butts and liquor bottles littered what I assumed was a carpeted floor.  Though given the amount of filth it could very well have been some kind of mold or fungus.  I can still hear the crunch of Styrofoam containers as I stepped into his quarters.  A naked woman lay sprawled across the bed.  I was sure I’d seen her somewhere before, I just couldn’t place where. She looked like she led a hard life. Hard living had a way of making  18 look 38 seemingly overnight.  She couldn’t have been much older than me, everyone knew Tony liked’em young..  Her sallow cheeks barely moved as she licked her dry caked lips.  The tourniquet was released and lay beneath her arm as the needle continued to ooze poison into her blood stream.  Her eyes went slowly in and out of focus, she was out of it.

“Yo what the fuck? You suckin this dick or what?” I barely heard him. I turned to see where the voice was coming from.  He had gotten naked and thrown his soiled boxers in the corner. He stood off to the side his rock hard and surprisingly large member held by those squat little fingers.

“Come on I ain’t got all day. And don’t act like you new to this, them lips look like they been around”

It was then that I noticed the same substance from earlier on his penis but it didn’t look red anymore.  I looked from him back to the bed and saw the puddle beneath his last victim. He must have been a mind reader.

“Pussy is Pussy.  Bleedin or not, a bitch gotta make her money.  You suck it just like this I ain’t washin it off.  Think of it as seasoning.”  He chuckled to himself. 

“Seasoning, ha ha ha I gotta write that shit down.”

He said, shaking his jheri curl covered head.

“That’s not why I’m here.” I said firmly, giving him the ice glare.

“I need a job.”

“A job?” He said, scratching his head.

“Well the only job I got for you is a blow job.” He cackled long and hard at his little joke. That’s until he saw my face.  I guess something in my eyes told him I was serious and not willing to budge.  He stopped laughing and sized me up again. “A job?” He posed the question but never waited for an answer, I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. “Hey Joe!”  He yelled for his right hand man to join us. This was it!........It was finally happening…  Within moments Joe appeared at the doorway, ready to be of service. Jo was the Sheena Easton fan.  Seeing him up close I knew there was no chance he’d get any where near her.  He was about 6 ft tall all legs and arms. His pock marked face was a welcomed distraction from the stench of his breath. His nose looked like it had been broken a few times and his lips were dry and scabbed, no doubt from constant picking since this is what he was doing as he stood listening to the little dictator. He looked like he’d never even seen Vaseline or god forbid, some damn chapstick. He looked like he and the midget were related somehow.  I guess ashy was hereditary.  I shuddered to think of those hard ash caked hands coming anywhere near my or any human flesh

“Yo make it quick it’s my turn with Charmaine.” 

Poor Charmaine, I thought to myself. 

“This bitch…“

“My name is Micah.” I stated this firmly. He needed to know I wasn’t gonna be referred to as anything else. I wasn’t one of these whores I was on the come up and he needed to know that from jump.

“Your name is whatever I call you.  As long as you got a pussy, your name around here is Bitch. You keep fucking interrupting me and we might change that shit to mud. You got me?” I backed down.  Not from fear but because I needed this little prick, with the not so little prick. 

One thing was for certain, when I got on top there were gonna be some changes.  I remained silent while he whispered something in Joe’s ear. Joe left the room quickly with a sly grin on his face.  He returned a moment later with some clothes and a purse.  Walking over to the bed he grabbed the girl and dragged her outside the door leaving me alone with the Boss. I wondered what the plan was.  Was I gonna start as a look out? Or a messenger? When would be the best time to bring up Lou? I’d wait on that, If anything I was

willing to share whatever I had with Lou for a while at least….. My thoughts were interrupted by the stinging in my cheek.  He slapped me! I hadn’t even heard the door shut.  I didn’t even think he could reach up that far. Blood dripped from my nose into my open mouth I was too stunned to speak.

“Fuckin bitch!” He screamed, foamy spittle flying from his thick lips. “You bitches kill me.  Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He was surprisingly strong for such a little guy, and fast too.  I hardly realized what was happening before I felt him grabbing a hand full of my hair and tossing me onto the floor.  His chunky little foot made contact with my stomach and I winced. Every time I tried to get up he kicked me again.  The pain was excruciating.  I could see stars.

I heard him ranting on about nothing really and I wondered if the crew outside could hear. I wondered if anyone would come and see me like this. Slumped on the floor getting my ass beat by a dwarf, this was not a good start.  He grabbed my hair and pushed my face into the floor several times, my nose was bloody and my eyes watered but I refused to cry. 

He pulled me up onto my knees. He stood in front of me pressing my face into his smelly crotch.  It was now or never.  Firm hard teeth gripped swollen flesh instantly. I bit down as hard as I could. Even with his heavy little fists pounding the top of my head I didn’t let go I kept digging in.  Blood gushed into my mouth and dripped down my chin.  I kept biting until I felt the blade secure in my hand, as I let go he shouted out, but only briefly.  As his hands went to his wound, I jumped up pulling the switchblade out of my pocket one click and the blade was lodged in his throat.  Had I done this the right way he would have died in a matter of seconds, but I was a few centimeters off. 

Plenty of blood, but he wouldn’t stay down. He tried running for the door. The minute he turned for the door I jumped on his back. He tried to scream, but the blood from the wound made it sound like he was under water.  He gurgled and stumbled toward the door clutching the widening hole in his throat.  I grabbed him from behind drawing the blade across his jugular. Whatever fight was in him vanished with that final slice of the blade.  Defeated, he slumped onto the floor.  I held his head in my hand driving his face into the carpet over and over until I was satisfied.  He had stopped moving long before that last thump. If the slice to his throat didn’t do it the cracked skull definitely did.  I know it cracked, I heard it. I felt the bone give way beneath my finger tips.  I had been straddling his back during the final assault, hurriedly I got to my feet. I could smell his excrement.  I looked at the crumpled little dead man.  This was a legend?  Dead at the hands of a child, covered in blood and his own feces? Pathetic. What to do now? 

I was dripping with blood mine and his.  Surely his crew would come and find him this way.  Any second now they would bust through the door guns blazing.  I glanced over at the dresser and saw a pair of jeans.  Inside the pocket was a thick wad of bills held in place by a rubber band. I needed to make a fast escape, and since he wasn’t goin no where I figured I needed it more than he did.  I hoped it was enough to get me to Canada, no way the mob would ever find me there…..

I continued my search for any valuables that would serve me well and could fit into my pockets.  I helped myself to a few rings and a brand new Rolex that I found on the dresser.  Tearing off my soiled top I grabbed a t-shirt off the floor. God it smelled! I almost put my bloody top back on. At the very least I knew what had soiled my top.  I had no idea what might be on his smelly thing! I entered the hall shutting the door behind me.  I walked quickly to the front door.  No one seemed to notice me leaving.  There were still 2 couples on the couch. And the same two henchmen watching the show, I guess they go last. 

The girls were busy doing the same dance but with new partners.  This time Jo was among them. I guess he didn’t miss his turn. Charmaine sat on his lap facing him, I watched her ponytail bounce to the rhythm of Prince’s “I wanna be Your Lover”.  It blasted from the speakers, drowning out any sounds they may have heard from the bedroom, so far so good. The other 2 henchmen, looking satisfied and silently content, sat by the window puffing on the joints that had been rolled by the toddler, she sat in the sill playing with a lighter. Her mother and aunt had given into temptation, and were enjoying the unattended coke on the coffee table.  My presence went on unnoticed as I headed for the door Turning the knob I breathed a sigh of relief.  A clean getaway!

“Who the fuck are you?” He growled.

It was too good to be true…..

He stood in the threshold my face at his neck.  He cleared six feet easily.  His frame was slim but athletic. The designer nameplate hanging from his long neck read, “Mr. Magic” in molded gold sprinkled with diamonds.  One large flawless jewel dotted the eye in magic and another added the punctuation to Mr.    If this was Mr. Magic, then who was rotting in the back room?

“Who are these people in my house?  Where the fuck is Quan?”