Selena passed them on the way into the place. A gorgeous distraction, black leather and lace.  Bottom bass.  from right to left, left to right, MJ-like always surpassing the hype.  She tossed ’em a sly smile, followed up by her fly style.  Nothing but raised eyebrows and Ooohh faces, is gettin’ riled.  She was my ace up the sleeve, scent traces, always without fail had ’em gasping, trying to breathe, tightening up their laces.

Smoothly, I dipped inside the building to cut the cables and put the footage on a loop.  My man, Justin waited outside in the coupe. Real-time scoops – earbud to earbud, patched into the security updates.  We’d previously cased the joint earlier in the month.  We’d studied the blueprints, identifying the exits in the back and the front.  My crew thought out of the box, outside the lines.  Our stocks and tools, the connects supplied.

I’d been open wide, high on her style and substance since the time before the dread and after the Afro.  Back in high school, I used to throw pebbles at her window.  I hoped she’d notice me, know my feelings for her were real and no show.  Selena had me fienin’ with my pipes out. Without any doubt, she was my effervescent, chemical distraction; My fantasy to live out.

Never crossed my mind, why she was finally showing me some time. You know, maybe my time was here, just maybe the stars do fall in line.  Never questioned it, just chalked it up to the fact the sun shines on a dog’s ass sometimes.  My man!  She was soft, sexy, and fine as hell.  Hardcore, real world beauty.  Who can tell?  Who knows?  Maybe I grew on her.  Maybe she got comfortable with the thought of me and her, long striding, arm in arm setting the world on fire – a heart’s desire.

We were two barrels smokin’, the realest, no joking, high on life, hitting the city head on, hitting the city fast. Ego stroking, she had me gassed.  Laughing at the sky, “Who can ‘F’ with us!”  Pecan colored lips with a peppermint fragrance.  The cranberry red, BMW passed, puttin’ ’em in a trance with the rims spinnin’, the target ahead, we would be hittin’ the following morning to get our 401k, religious zeal, plus $50 mil.   We loved long and deep, the curve and feel, so damn real.

One final check before we dropped wisdom into the clips.  Loaded ’em both up, for the ride. Wisening up any heroes along the way.  Foolish money never hides.  Back em down, clap ’em down.  Back to back, a modern day Bonny and Clyde.  Before her, I’d never held a gun.  I’d never been on the run.  I was camouflaged in a flannel shirt, hat, and a wig.  Her curves rarely, ever went unnoticed, even dressed incognito with an air of nonchalance ready for the hit.

Yet still, in the back of my mind I was thinking this chick, is two shelves higher than my reach.  She was too slick, but my ego allowed me to dismiss, my intuition and the notion that she might be playing me.  After all, why should I think that way?  I wasn’t street.  I had been a  nondescript nerd with no sense of self to keep a chick of her caliber to be on my team.  I mean how many times do you get to realize a dream?  So I went in, even though I should’ve been more cautious about whom I fell in love with…

“Everyone face down on the floor!” She’d already made her way out the door.  I swung the muzzle over the tops of the heads of the flat faced patrons, just to make sure no one was thinking about getting their hero on.   I made my way to the open air, just my luck, the cops were waiting out there..

“Hands up!”  I dropped the bag of big faces, mad evidence for the criminal cases. Justin was already in the back of a squad car.  I saw him look up at me.  I watched her drive away out of the corners of my eyes. She was smiling, I could see.  I thought back to the signs I missed; How this could’ve caught me, as a surprise; How she played me.  “Drop to your knees!”  In less than an hour I’d be in jail and she’d be setting sail.

I rode in the back of the squad car and smiled, thinking to myself, I couldn’t help but dig her style and the way she played this.   She was charismatic, intelligent, and hot.  The perfect formula to get me got.  But hey, none of us is gonna make it out alive.  Might as well, roll up your favorite poem and get high.  My poem was, 5′ 2″, razor, and every bit of fly.

by malakhai jonezs
(c) Copyright 2016