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Stories

Geoffrey Cordell Takes a Vacation

-1-

Geoffrey Cordell, local pimp and all-around sociopath, was sitting in his La-Z-Boy channel-hopping on the TV while smoking a refreshing Kool cigarette. His ho's were out working. Geoffrey was tired; it had been a busy week for the black thug. He had to discipline three different ho's, then had problems collecting from Chinkster Chong. The little chinaman wouldn't try to short Geoffrey for a long time after the beating he received.

"Dag, ahm all tired n'sheeit!" complained Geoffrey, but then his attention was captured by the exotic tropical island scenes he was seeing on TV. "What da fuck is dis, aww nawwe it be da Travel Channel!" And he got to thinking.

"Ah needs me a vacashum. Get my black ass on a island n sheeit, wid all dat island pussy," he mused, taking a deep drag of his Kool. "Dis Kool be all refreshin n'sheeit, but Cawdell need to be a island-hoppin mothafucka!"

His mind settled, he rose from the comfortable seat and walked over to the closet. He opened the closet door began rifling through the pile of miscellaneous clothing, grocery bags and shoes then frowned. "Dag, Geoffrey ain't got no luggage!"

He donned his pimp finery and headed out to the streets. "Geoffrey Cawdell need hissef some luggage n'sheeit," he mumbled as he stepped out onto the street.

He walked purposefully down the street and stopped before a small pawn shop. Geoffrey knew the owner, a fat black man named Leroy who was better known as Tubby. Tubby was concerned with only two things in life - money, and his own self-preservation. He was one of many small businessmen in the neighborhood who feared Geoffrey Cordell.

Geoffrey strode into the pawn shop and brushed several people aside as he pushed his way to the window, behind whom sat Tubby. "Yo Tubby, ah need some luggage n'sheeit," he said without preamble.

Tubby was annoyed. "Dag nigga, ah got customas!" he replied, gesturing to the angry people standing behind the pimp.

Geoffrey cackled, then rapped his fist on the glass. "Dat raht, n' ahm yo prahm customa," he said. "Nigga." He patted his coat, the outline of his gun hidden beneath the folds clearly visible to the fat proprietor.

Tubby sighed. "Fahn. Whatchoo need?" He could only hope that Geoffrey would actually pay him for whatever he took. Sometimes the pimp was in a generous mood and paid, and sometimes he just took what he wanted. You never knew which Geoffrey would show up.

"Open dem fatass ears, nigga. Ah said ah need some luggage n'sheeit. Ahm takin' me a vacashum."

Tubby put his chubby hand on his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, ah got me some luggage around here. Where you goin?"

Geoffrey grinned. "Ahm goin to da ISLANDS yo. Gone get me some island pussy!" He snickered.

"Which islands you goin to? You need a passport n'all dat shit to get on some of 'em."

Geoffrey became annoyed. "Whatchoo talkin bout fool, passport n'sheeit. Geoffrey Cawdell don't need to passport n'sheeit. Geoffrey Cawdell be a ISLAND-HOPPIN MUTHAFUCKA!"  He turned around and beamed at the angry customers standing in line behind him. They did not look happy. "Y'all need a vacashum too," he said to them. They all knew Geoffrey; they dared not incur his wrath. They waited in stony silence.

Tubby got up slowly from his chair  behind the window and began searching through the great and numerous piles of everything that filled the room that he was in. Geoffrey lit a Kool and leaned on the glass. He rapped his knuckles on the glass. "C'mawn fat man, ah be in a hurry!"

"Dag, take me a minute to find dis shit dawg," Tubby called back. After several minutes, the fat pawn shop owner returned with a beat up but intact set of black leather luggage. There were three pieces: large, medium, and an overnight bag, all matching. "Dis be da best ah got, Geoffrey. You want da whole set?"

Geoffrey pointed at the overnight bag. "Naw, jes dat one."

Tubby picked up the overnight bag and headed toward the door that opened to the rest of the store. "Uh dawg, dis piece be ten dollas," he said apologetically as he opened the door.

Geoffrey shoved the door open and yanked the bag out of Tubby's hands. "Put dis sheeit on my bill, dawg," he said, and turned on his heel toward the door, leaving a scowling Tubby behind him. He deliberately walked through the line of customers and forced them to scurry out of his way.

As he left the shop, the little bell on the door jingled. "Geoffrey Cawdell be a island-hoppin muthafucka!" he sang happily.

-------------------

-2-

Geoffrey was busy packing travel essentials into his new overnight bag. "Dag, dis be one useful motherfuckin' bag," he mused as he haphazardly grabbed several things from the bathroom and threw them into the bag. There was his toothbrush, toothpaste ("Man's got to have dem shiny choppas."), a variety of hair supplies, and sundry other items. Then he opened the closet and grabbed the spare loaded gun and his backup pimp hat ("Man's got to have fashion options yo."). He opened a hidden draw under the TV and pulled out a ziploc bag filled with rolled joints, a few grams of cocaine and pills of various shapes and sizes. He shoved those into the bag as well. Finally he opened the refrigerator and grabbed the last six pack of Colt 45 and crammed that into the bag. "Dat should be it," he said zipping the bag.

Just then, Fawntelle sashayed in. "Hey Daddy," she greeted the pimp happily. Geoffrey scowled at her and held out his hand.

"You early bitch. Hope you made yo' minimum."

"I had a good day Daddy," the scantily clad, well-proportioned black whore replied. She pulled a roll of bills from somewhere under her tiny skirt and handed it to her pimp, who dutifully counted it.

He smiled and smacked his lips. "Damn girl, you DID have a good day." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought for a moment. "Tell you what, Geoffrey Cawdell gone reward yo ass and take you awn a trip n'sheeit."

Fawntelle clapped her hands and jumped up and down. "OOH Daddy, where we goin?"

"Calm yose'f bitch o' you ain't gone noplace!" The whore covered her mouth trying to hide her excitement.  "Naw, go pack a bag. You got five minute o' you stayin' behind." He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. "Tahm be countin' down girl. Best get dat ass movin."

Fawntelle hurriedly rushed off to the other room and within minutes emerged with a small packed suitcase. "Ahm ready Daddy. Where we goin?"

Geoffrey grinned. "We gone to da islands n'sheeit, baby. Geoffrey Cawdell be one island-hoppin' motherfucka! An' you be mah island bitch!" He slapped Fawntelle on the ass hard. She squealed happily. Geoffrey had never taken her anywhere; this would be a real treat.

Geoffrey led the way down to the lobby of the Hotel Excellente and sidled up to the desk clerk, a middle-aged bespectacled Indian man named Saadiq who sat impassively behind bullet-proof glass. "Yo Saddik," said Geoffrey, rapping on the glass. "Call me a cab. I'm goin' awn a trip n'sheeit."

Saadiq looked up from his crossword puzzle and frowned. "Fine, then you are being a cab," he said blankly, then returned to his puzzle.

"Dag Saddik, why you gotta be like dat?" Geoffrey became angry and pounded on the glass, to no effect.

Saadiq smiled. "Now you are being an annoyance! Begone or I will call the police!"

Geoffrey sneered at the hindu. "One o'dese days, Saddik, you an' me gone have a face-to-face n'sheeit. Den we see." He pounded on the glass one more time, then signaled for Fawntelle to follow him outside.

Saadiq grinned as he watched the pimp and his whore leave, then returned to his crossword puzzle.

Once outside, Geoffrey and Fawntelle had to walk several blocks until an empty cab appeared. The two hopped in, Geoffrey first. He glanced at the driver's ID posted in the back seat and tried to sound out the long middle-eastern sounding name. "Mu-muh-... DAG! Ah can't say dis sheeit," he mumbled. The bearded swarthy-looking driver turned around, waiting for instructions. "Yo take me to da airport, ahm gone to da islands n'sheeit," said Geoffrey.

Fawntelle had also read the driver's ID and she suddenly looked panicky. Geoffrey frowned at her. "Bitch, what yo problem?" he asked impatiently.

Fawntelle answered in a frantic whisper. "Daddy, I think da driver be a terrorist o'sumthin. Ah seen his picture on da news!"

Geoffrey waved her concerns away. "Aw girl, you watchin too much TV n'sheeit. Lot of raghead mothafuckas drivin' cabs in dis city." He leaned forward. "Yo driva, ain't dat raht? You raghead mothafuckas be drivin all the cabs n'sheeit?" he asked the driver.

The driver's eyes flashed angrily in the rear-view mirror. "Please sit back sir," he said in a tight, heavily-accented voice.

Geoffrey was persistent. He tapped the driver's shoulder. "Yo but it's true, dawg. Right? Right?"
He turned to Fawntelle, who sat wide-eyed. "Dag, dis fool pissin Geoffrey off," he murmured. He tapped on the driver's shoulder again, this time more forcefully. "Yo mothafucka, I'm talkin to yo ass!"

The driver looked angrily in the rear-view mirror again. "Black man shut up or get out of cab!" He stopped the cab for a red light.

"Muthafucka!" said Geoffrey in a surprised voice. He instantly took out his gun and jammed it against the back of the driver's head. "Lissen you raghead terrarist mothafucka, ah blow yo dirty head off yo shoulders raht now! RAHT FUCKIN NAW BITCH!"

Fawntelle rubbed the pimp's arm, trying to calm him down. "Daddy he ain't worth it," she cooed.

"Shut up bitch!" spat Geoffrey.

The driver was panicking and pulled the car over to the curb. He put the cab into park. "Please to get out of my cab!" he implored the angry pimp.

But Geoffrey would have none of it. "Muthafucka did I TELL you to pull ova?" He was jamming the gun against the man's head repeatedly.

The driver turned around suddenly and clumsily reached for the gun, which then went off. Half of the man's bearded jaw blew off his face, spraying Geoffrey and Fawntelle with blood and brain. "DAG!" cried Geoffrey. Fawntelle covered her mouth.

Geoffrey scowled and aimed the gun at the dying, gurgling driver. "MOTHAFUCKA RUIN MAH TRIP! MOTHAFUCKA RUIN MAH TRIP!" he cried, and proceeded to empty the gun's chamber into the man, whose body danced and shook in the driver's seat with the flurry of shots.

"Daddy, I wanna go home," pleaded Fawntelle.

"Good idea bitch, look like dis BITCH MOTHAFUCKA ruin mah trip!" Geoffrey was angry. "Now git yo ass home and clean up. You gone pull anotha shift fo' Geoffrey."

The whore looked crestfallen, but knew better than to complain. "Yes Daddy," she replied obediently.

After she left the parked cab, Geoffrey reached into the front seat and took all the cabbie's fares from the day. It was a decent haul. "Sheeit, at least dis ain't a total loss," he grumbled.

He left the cab and quickly disappeared into the neighborhood on his way back to his apartment. He glanced at his watch.

"Dag, Top Chef be awn soon. Geoffrey Cawdell love dat show, maybe gone be a top chef," he mused. "Geoffrey Cawdell, masta chef n'sheeit."

THE END.

© 2009 Michael S. Cohen

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