Chapter 15: Jizzy B., Part 2

Author's Note: Thanks to ExomTaoLover, VonSchweets, hypertonic, kudoshinici1994, and lynn2008 for following this story, and thanks to ExomTaoLover for the reviews. Y'all keep them coming! That's what had me motivated to do a special update a week ahead of schedule. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Warning: This chapter contains vulgar language, violence, murder, poor Spanish on my part, and graphic sexual content. If you can't stomach it, don't read any further.

Cesar's POV:

The two gangstas drove from the Doherty garage to Victim in Financial to get dressed up for their introduction to Jizzy B. Cesar parked his Savanna on the sidewalk and followed CJ into the store. The husky Black gangsta seemed to fit into a store like Victim more than Cesar did, even though neither of them had shopped at any store more upscale than Suburban. When they entered the store, the slim Latina cashier greeted CJ with a seductive glance up and down his ripped form. "Try on anything you like, sir."

"Like I need an invitation," CJ scoffed so that only Cesar could hear. Cesar laughed weakly in agreement. The cashier didn't stare lustily at him; he was just a kid from the barrio to her.

CJ scanned the store and led the way up a flight of metal stairs to the second floor of the store. Men's suits lined one wall in varying shades and sizes, while women's suits and dresses lined the other. Hats filled four display tables in the center of the floor. CJ picked out a gray suit and black baseball cap that complimented his spiffy white Prolaps sneakers and darted into a dressing room. Cesar nervously lifted a trim black double-breasted suit with blue pinstripes from the shelf and descended the stairs. A pair of dark sunglasses and black leather biker boots called to the Latino. They fit him perfectly.

Altogether, the outfit cost Cesar $2300. The cashier counted his money twice, held each individual bill to the light, and tested the inks on the paper money for smudging. 'If Carl wasn't standing right here, you'd be dead puta estúpida.' Cesar snatched the bag from his hand containing his old outfit and waited for CJ in the Savanna. When they reached the Pleasure Domes in Battery Point, it was after nightfall.

Infernuses, Admirals, and Feltzers packed the parking lot. It was a Friday night, and the businessmen of San Fierro were ready to spend their paychecks in the company of scantily clad women. The bouncers at the door exchanged respectful nods with the two gangstas. Inside the club, the atmosphere was thick with liquor, cigar smoke, and the scent of naked women. Strippers bounced and shimmied on poles around the club while eager men waved singles, fives, and higher before them. Jizzy's bartender, a wiry older Black man with a bored expression on his face, served them two drinks. He returned when CJ and Cesar spent more than ten minutes nursing their drinks. "You boys don't wanna check out the entertainment?"

"Nah," CJ replied and set down his drink on the counter, "we're here to see Jizzy B. Is he around?"

The bartender popped another bottle of Smirkoff for a sweating man in a loosened red tie and mixed it with Sprunk. "That depends. You boys five-oh?"

"Hijoputa, you need to be fired." Cesar laughed. "If we were policía, you just told us that Jizzy got shit he don't want the cops to know about."

The bartender gave Cesar a glare that suggested his fears weren't mitigated by Cesar's words. "We ain't cops. We're just two boys from LS who need jobs. Jizzy might be able to use our skills," CJ said reassuringly.

Cesar's trigger finger began to itch as the bartender continued to eye him. His silencer was stored safely inside his double breasted suit jacket. Before Cesar could reach it, the bartender made a decision. "He's over in that booth with Bettina, the newest dancer. Tell security Eddie sent you."

CJ and Cesar sauntered into the corner to which the bartender referred. Two beefy buzzcut blonds wearing dark eyeglasses, dark single-breasted suits, and evident earpieces guarded the corner. They were larger than even CJ and had Tec-9's strapped visibly to their waists. "What do you want?" asked one.

"This is a private booth," stated the other.

A woman with café au lait skin and slicked back short black hair spun on a pole. Her D-cup breasts jiggled when she spun on the pole and winked upside-down at Cesar. She slid down headfirst. Cesar tore his eyes away as the blue eyed stripper reminded him of Pitbull. It was not a welcome thought. "Eddie sent us."

The security guards stepped aside. Jizzy B. lounged in the booth in a red velvet suit and a proud grin on his face. Two women flanked the Pleasure Domes proprietor. A blonde in a form-fitting white dress and stacked white heels snorted lines of cocaine from the mirror in her lap. On her right, an Asian woman with full lips and voluptuous curves sat blank-eyed as Jizzy B.'s bejeweled fingers roamed under her skirt.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Jizzy stood at the sight of Cesar and CJ, straightening the jacket of his suit. "How'd you two get past security?"

Jizzy's guards pulled out two SMGs. CJ's hands raised in surprise, while Cesar's right hand crept toward his jacket. "Whoa! Take it easy, Jizzy! We just wanna work with—I mean, for—you."

"Where you two from?"

"Los Santos," Cesar replied as he stepped forward. "We tryin' to make our way into the game here in San Fierro."

Jizzy skeptically scanned their frames. "What do you do?"

"Whatever you need us to do. Name's CJ Johnson. This here is my boy Cesar. As you can see, I'm built for kickin' ass. And my partner here knows the streets like nobody else."

"You two are in luck." Jizzy snapped his fingers and the two cocaine-fiending whores strutted off. Cesar noticed how both of them appraised CJ and himself. His confidence naturally rose. The pimp jerked his head in the direction of his guards, and the three men walked toward the Pleasure Domes' doo. "I just had two positions open up. You look like just the dumb muscle I need."

Cesar rolled his eyes at the pimp's condescending comment, but Jizzy didn't notice. He sat on the lounge sofa again and reclined. "See here, I'm in the business of knowing the streets. I got eyes and ears everywhere. But in this town, you got to have two ears and two eyes. That's where you two come in.

"I got a pimp hassling my girls to come work for him over in Hashbury. Then I got some punters trying to kill off my girls over in the airport and Foster Valley area. You two go take care of it." Jizzy B. waved dismissively at them.

Cesar and CJ walked out the club and lingered in the parking lot. "I already can't wait to kill this puto," Cesar hissed.

"You gotta keep shit like that to yourself, Ceese, or…"

"Aye wait a minute!" Cesar heard Jizzy's clipped stride approaching them across the parking lot. Cesar froze with his left hand in the pocket of his jacket near his silencer. He turned cautiously and spotted a sizzling hot Latina woman on Jizzy's left arm. Her silky brown braids ran from her hair to her ample cleavage, which was pushed into the tight space of a tied-off men's shirt. Cesar let his eyes rove her bared midriff and the thick, waxed legs that emerged from her suffocating leather miniskirt.

"I got one more assignment for you two. Take this ho downtown to meet her client in my car. Don't fuck up my ho, and don't fuck up my car." Jizzy slapped his car keys into CJ's beefy hands. The Latina hooker strutted to the car and seductively stretched her legs to get into the car.

"Aye Ceese, I think this would go faster if we split up. You take the ho, and I'll go handle the other pimp."

"You want to take my car?"

CJ jogged to a red FCR-900 parked in the lot. It took a few moments of searching, but CJ found a set of keys in a compartment near the engine. "Nobody goes in a strip club with keys in his pocket," the husky Black laughed while revving the motorcycle. "I'll meet you back here when we finish business, alright?"

"Alright, homes." Cesar climbed into the driver's side of the Pimpmobile. The sexy Latina smiled at him. "Que Honda? Where we headed to?"

"The Vank Hoff downtown," replied the hooker.

Cesar carefully steered the gold Pimpmobile into the busy traffic of rush hour Battery Point traffic. In the passenger's seat, the hooker pulled out a mirror and examined her brown braids and heavy makeup. Cesar gave her a glance, nothing more. If not for the makeup, the Latina hooker had the face of a very beautiful woman. After she was satisfied with her primping, the hooker removed a coke baggie from her purse, spread its contents on the mirror, and inhaled the whole pile with two strong snorts. "Ooo, what a strong pecho."

She trailed her curved, acrylic fingernails up Cesar's arm. "Si, I work out a lot." Cesar steered the car into Paradiso, heading toward Jim's Sticky Ring Donut Shop. The suburban neighborhood was less busy than the Battery Point area.

"Ever had half-and-half with a sucia like me?" the hooker whispered into Cesar's ear.

"Puta, you don't know what you talkin' about." 'Still, it's the most play a puta's given me in months. And I'm tired of Pitbull. I like the muchachas.' Cesar glanced at the hooker's light brown skin complexion and envisioned Pitbull or Kendl sitting beside him. It was impossible. "Challe, I'm taken, see?"

"I'll do things your ruca won't!"

Cesar studied the red lace of the hooker's bra, visible under the collar of the tied-off shirt. 'Sus tetas want my mouth on them. And that polvo could use a good pounding,' Cesar thought. He slowed down a hill behind a supermarket and not because of the traffic. "Really now?"

"Que tu quieres?" she whispered in his ear. Her hand found purchase on the length of his stiffening manhood.

That was all the initiative Cesar needed. He turned left and quickly found a Xoomer gas station across from the Paradiso Burger Shot. The Azteca warrior parked the Pimpmobile behind the gas station. Before Cesar pulled the key out the ignition, the Latina hooker had crawled into his lap and kissed him passionately. Her lips were soft but skilled. Cesar's soldier rose to full attention.

She moaned against his lips from the feeling of his hardness between her legs and arched her back. Cesar growled at the sight of her breasts and untied the shirt with one hand, while holding the intoxicated hooker off the steering wheel with the other hand.

The Azteca warrior kissed the soft mounds of her light brown breasts, tracing the hard imprint of her nipples with his pliant tongue through the lace of the bra. Cesar forced her to sit upright again, captured her mouth with his, and forced his thick tongue into her mouth to flick against her tongue. Cesar let his hands roam over the hooker's soft, well-rounded backside. When she leaned in close to him, he smacked her booty. It jiggled like Jell-O in an earthquake.

"Ay papi, me chinga!" she moaned ecstatically.

Cesar's hands, roughened from working on cars the last three weeks, drifted beneath her skirt. The hooker moaned with increasing pleasure, and Cesar's manhood throbbed in a desperate need for attention. She wasn't wearing any panties. The soft pretty lips between her thighs were warm, wet, and waiting. Cesar slipped two fingers inside her, making the prostitute tremble with ecstasy, and raised his moist fingers to his lips.

The Latina's juices were salty but tangy, like a sip of a lime margarita.

She leaned into the kiss and her tongue danced a tango with Cesar's. The Azteca warrior wrapped one corded arm around her waist to pull her supple body flush with his. The sensation of her hard nipples, her plump breasts pushed against his ripped chest had Cesar's member throbbing. He unzipped his pants with the hand he had just tasted. The hooker reached back, positioned his manhood, and impaled herself upon the throbbing, needy shaft.

Both Latinos gasped in the cool night air, but it was the prostitute who engaged more verbally. "Ay! Su carajo! Papi, su carajo es muy grande!" Cesar gasped for air between gritted teeth while the hooker pivoted her hips back and forth.

It had been nearly eight months since any woman's wet walls had welcomed Cesar's manhood. A man could forget the feeling. But he could not forget what to do when the opportunity arose.

Cesar slipped both hands to the prostitute's clothed hips and began bucking his own hips in time to her rhythm. The squeaking shocks of the car formed a steady, musical rhythm in the autumn night air. The hooker moaned a stream of invective-laced Spanish while she and Cesar rutted in Jizzy's car.

After what seemed like hours, she whispered headily into his ear, "Come on, hijoputa, make mami cum!" Her words sent a magic signal straight to Cesar's groin. Feeling his orgasm near, he pulled her from her straddling position and laid her across the front seat. Cesar grasped his manhood and plunged face first into the hooker's lap.

His skilled tongue worked into her pulsating womanhood, grazed her engorged clitoris half-hidden between the unshaved lips, and began to swirl between her thighs like a cyclone. The Latina cursed him, cursed herself, cursed God, yet all the while, she held Cesar's head between her thighs. Her body writhed with unbridled pleasure. Her face contorted with intense emotion.

Within a minute, she gave a shuddering gasp and climaxed in Cesar's mouth. It tasted like key lime margaritas. Fifteen seconds later, Cesar ejaculated on her silky smooth thighs.

They laid there, Cesar's head on her stomach, his slowly softening erection still in hand. The whole encounter had lasted less than fifteen minutes. Cesar could have been convinced it had taken hours. He zipped himself up and nestled his head in the cleavage of the prostitute breasts, firm and supple beneath his rough, unshaved face. "Cambien de tu quieres, puta?" Cesar trailed his tongue along one pert nipple.

"For you, cabrán, it's free."

Cesar dropped her off at the Vank Hoff downtown without another moment's delay. Neither spoke to the other during the short drive, but the hooker did take another hit of crack off the mirror in her purse when they pulled into the Vank Hoff's valet-serviced driveway. Cesar watched the prostitute's alluring body disappear into the hotel. Before he pulled off, Jizzy's car phone rang. "Hola, que tal?"

"It's Jizzy." Cesar's upper lip curled with revulsion. "One of my girls called from Foster Valley, near the highway. Some punters is down there giving them a hard time. I want you to go take care of it."

"Si, it's done." Cesar hung up the phone. When he studied it, Cesar realized that the phone was shaped like a naked woman on her hands and knees with her booty raised in the air. The receiver was shaped like a bed. Cesar chuckled; even if Jizzy was repugnant, he had a sense of humor. Cesar sped through Financial and was driving through Doherty when his personal cell phone rang. "Que tal?"

"Cesar, you dropped off that ho yet?"

"Si, but Jizzy called, he's got some new problem down in Foster Valley."

"Ok, I just took out Jizzy's competition in Hashbury," CJ reported. "I'm on my way to Foster Valley."

"Meet me near the interstate, home, hasta luego." Cesar hung up and drummed his fingers impatiently while waiting for the light to change near the Garcia dojo. 'Chinga, I ain't been to the gym in three days. Need to get back in, get a little buffed now that I can.' Just after the light changed and before Cesar could accelerate, his cell phone rang again. Cesar spat out an irritated, "Who is this?"

"I just saw you leaving the Vank Hoff Cesar and that cualquiera you dropped off," Pitbull whined. "Que pasa? You wanna fuck a ho, but you won't fuck me?"

"Where I stick my carajo is my business, Rafael. You and I was done long time ago."

"Chingados! Cesar, you gave me leche this morning, but you say we done long time ago. Why do you treat me like mierda?"

Cesar shook his head in frustration. There was a time when Pitbull's ripped body, supple mouth, and blue eyes drove Cesar insane with desire and lust. There was a time when the half-Dominican was the most beautiful person, man or woman, Cesar had seen in his whole life. Pitbull had stimulated Cesar in ways that Cesar had never thought possible. Because they were in rival gangs, they had kept things quiet, and they had never gone all the way sexually. Yet Cesar had hoped for a long-term relationship. Pitbull was the one who ruined everything. And when his heart was devastated beyond anything he imagined, when Cesar was about to do something he never fathomed, Kendl had walked into his life.

"I gotta go," he said coldly and ended the call. He slowed as he approached the double-lane overpass of the interstate to search for the punters. Cesar spotted their van first. It was a battered white Camper with a bold blue stripe along the middle and a rear door painted red, parked near one of the pylons supporting the highway. Cesar pulled behind it and parked.

The punters were a few dozen yards away. Both were White; one was blond in a ragged blue plaid shirt and worn out jeans, but the other was bald in an orange hoody and black sweatpants. They stood over a hooker in a bloodied white shirt and red skirt, who was desperately shielding herself against their blows. Cesar reached into his suit jacket and called out, "Hey!"

Neither man looked in his direction. Neither man saw the two rapid shots to their heads that ended their lives. The grateful hooker climbed to her feet and brushed off her clothes. Cesar took two steps toward her. She was crying profusely on her bruised face. "Hey, it's ok," he said reassuringly. "Jizzy sent me."

"That asshole, done something nice for one of us?" she croaked.

Cesar shrugged his shoulders. "Que sera, sera." He looked around the crime scene at the two dead men. "Look, go ahead and take their van. Get out of here."

The prostitute wiped off her tears and the blood on her face. She warily watched Cesar before climbing into the van. "Jizzy won't put me to work like this, you know."

Cesar looked away. "Creo que si, but do you want this kind of life for the rest of your life?"

"You would let me get away?" Cesar chose to answer her question by climbing into the Pimpmobile and dialing Jizzy's number. The prostitute had driven off before Jizzy answered.

"Ay Jizzy, I took care of those punters who was giving you trouble."

"Who gives a fuck about the punters? You bring bad luck, refried beans!"

Cesar restrained himself from unloading a slew of Spanish curses on the pimp. "What you talkin' about, Jizzy?"

"One of my girls just called and said she wants out of the game! She's one of my best and brightest!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Go to the Vank Hoff and take that ho out! Matter of fact, take out her sugar daddy too. Make her an example to all my hoes!" Cesar slammed the phone on its receiver. He pounded the steering wheel with his fists. 'Motherfuckin' puto!'

A motorcycle rumbled to a stop alongside the Pimpmobile. CJ hopped off and leaned into the car. "Don't tell me I missed all the fun?" he panted.

"Nah, this puto wants us to ice his ho now. Hop in."

While CJ loaded a new clip into the Tec-9 in his lap, Cesar drove onto the highway. "Ay Ceese, do you smell that?"

"Smell what, CJ?"

The husky Black locked eyes with Cesar. "Smells like somebody been fuckin' in here, real recently too. You ain't….?"

"Qué? You think I fucked una cualquiera? Nah, ese. I ain't got that low yet."

"Oh, I just thought…You know, since you and Kendl split up, a man gotta have needs."

"Nah, homes, I wouldn't trade down from your sister like that." 'Chingas, I feel bad for lying, but CJ don't leave much choice. Mifamilia's all gone. He's all I got left, him and Kendl, and Pitbull almost took them too. I ain't gonna lose them again.'

"Kendl has a special place in mi corazón, homes, even if we ain't together. Creo que si, I'm gonna need more time to recover."

"I understand, but still, she was lookin' too nice to be a ho. Even I wanted a piece of that," CJ laughed.

"Homes, you chingas every cualquiera you see. Cuanto girlfriends do you have now?"

Cesar reached the intersection where Victim and the Vank Hoff Downtown cast their shadows just as the Latina hooker and her john exited the hotel. Her customer was a nearly bald, gray-haired and liver-spotted TV preacher, whose broadcasts Cesar occasionally watched. The two walked arm in arm to the preacher's pearl white limo flanked by four bodyguards. Two climbed into a black SUV in front of the limo, and the other two climbed into the one behind the limo.

"CJ, how we gonna kill this puta when she got all these bodyguards? It's like the fuckin' Secret Service guardin' her!"

The husky Black winked at Cesar. "Don't worry man. I got a plan. Gimme your silencer, and pull up on the sidewalk right there."

The light had turned green, so Cesar eased the Pimpmobile to parallel the SUV at the head of the convoy. CJ rolled down his window. Before the cars could pull off, he pumped three slugs into the driver's side window. The first shattered the glass and stopped in the driver's throat. The other two lodged in the second bodyguard's head and neck.

A scraping of metal on metal caused Cesar to look around. "Oh Lord! The devil's right hand comes for us!" the TV preacher yelled from his limo. It had crossed the sidewalk in front of the hotel and pulled into traffic. Two pedestrians flew over the hood of the limo as it hurtled down the hill toward the bay front.

"We gotta stop that motherfucker before he gets away!" CJ yelled.

Cesar glanced at the remaining SUV. "Homes, we got bigger problems: two idiotas with guns, on your right!"

CJ glanced at the two bodyguards aiming .9 mm's at the Pimpmobile. "Follow that fuckin' limo!"

Cesar sped after the limo. In the passenger's seat, CJ swapped out Cesar's silence for the Tec-9 he had brought along. A barrage of bullets rained upon the Pimpmobile when Cesar nailed the U-turn in front of the Vank Hoff but disappeared once the car was down the hill. The limo was careening down Esplanade North. If they weren't pursuing the hooker and the preacher, Cesar would have envied the limo driver's obvious skills.

"Damn, Ceese, speed it up! I thought you raced and shit?"

"Ay homes, don't disrespect my skills! Watch this!" With one hand, Cesar tuned the radio to CSR 103.9, where Bell Biv Devoe warned about "Poison." 'Perfect song for this puta here.' With his other hand, Cesar steered the car through traffic until he caught sight of the limo trying to outpace a trolley car. "If they can't get by that trolley car, they can't get away from us!" Cesar bragged.

The Pimpmobile easily caught up to the limo. Cesar steered the car to block the limo's attempt to head back into downtown. When the driver slammed into him, Cesar spun the wheel a quarter turn left, then flooded the engine and spun hard right. The impact made both gangstas curse in surprise. "Whoa there, girlie!" they heard the preacher exclaim within the limo. "Be careful with the 'little preacher' there!"

Cesar rammed the limo again. 'This ain't personal hijoputas; this is just commerce, carnal?' The limo attempted to climb the next steep hill, but CJ leaned over the passenger's side door and opened fire. Bullets ripped through the metal frame, shattered glass, and rattled the people within the limo at 50 rounds per minute. The rattled engine, which took a significant battering, smoked ominously.

When Cesar rammed the limo again, the engine caught fire. CJ finished the clip, and the limo exploded. "Whoo! That's a lot of fire, ain't it, Ceese?"

"Yeah, homes. Let's go get this shit repainted before SF chotas come breathing down our necks," Cesar replied. He steered the car toward the downtown body shop owned by Kendl's roommate, Michelle. When he pulled the car into the garage, CJ exited to find Michelle. Cesar dialed *69 to retrieve Jizzy's number.

"Who's this?"

"Ay Jizzy, everything's been taken care of. That ho won't be quitting the game; she just got fired."

"Good work, beans boy. Hey, that car is up on the APB. Get rid of it, then come to the Pleasure Domes for your pay."