Free Big Juicy Lips by Allison Hobbs

thoughts galloped across his mind.
    “Are you going to help me come up with a solution or do you plan on breathing in the phone like a moron?” Thomasina said with chilling hostility.
    “Uh, I’ll hit her up on her cell and see whassup.”
    Thomasina made a long groaning sound. “If I can’t reach her on her cell, what makes you think you can? I told you her cell is turned off,” Thomasina huffed. “Nitwit!”
    Brick flinched at being called a nitwit. So far Miss Thomasina had called him out of his name twice in the conversation. He wanted to go off on her, put her in her place, but he kept a civil tongue. “Maybe she turned it back on by now. I’ll check on that for you.” Brick forced his voice to take on a respectful tone.
    “No, thank you,” she muttered resentfully. “I’m not waiting another minute for that spiteful heifer. I’m taking a cab. Make sure you tell Misty that she owes me cab fare and a shopping trip.” Thomasina hung up.
    Brick flopped back down on the sofa. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Too anxious to go back to sleep, he fired up a blunt and cracked open another can of brew.

CHAPTER 10
    M isty’s weed connect wasn’t taking her calls. She’d left Brick at home with damn near a quarter-pound of bud, leaving her with only one blunt. Damn if she was going to be stuck at the mall with her mom without a nice buzz going on.
    Desperation forced her hand. After a little investigating, she obtained Todd, her weed man’s, home address. He lived in the Fairmount district. Most streets in Philadelphia were comprised of cookie-cutter row homes, but not Todd’s house. As she cruised along, she noticed a variety of interesting, architectural designs, all within the same block. She also noticed, to her chagrin, that Todd’s charming little block had no parking spaces large enough for her X5. Two streets over, she found a place to park.
    Todd didn’t like clients showing up at his front door, but Misty didn’t give a fuck. Boldly, she marched up to his house, rang his doorbell twice, and then impatiently pounded her fist on the frosted glass pane of the front door. The sound echoed in the quiet, gentrified neighborhood. The door opened. A dark-haired, white guy stood in the doorway, squinting at Misty through eyeglasses. He was a bookworm type, an obvious nerd.
    “Where’s Todd?” she asked testily.
    “Todd?”
    “Did I stutter? Don’t try to act like you don’t know who Todd is.”
    “Yeah, sure. I know Todd, but he, uh…”
    “He, uh, what?” she mimicked.
    “Todd got busted,” the bespectacled student blurted.
    “He got busted?” Misty was shocked. And disappointed.
    “Yeah, a few days ago. He had an open case back in Wichita. He got extradited this morning.”
    “Are you in charge, now?” She reached inside her Juicy Couture bag. “I’ll pay double.”
    Appalled, the nerd recoiled. “I’m not involved in that. Todd and I were roommates. That’s all.” He dismissed her with an agitated gesture and closed the door.
    “Asshole!” Misty muttered a string of nonstop profanity until she reached her SUV.
    Nothing lasts forever, she reminded herself. That was a life lesson she should have learned a long time ago. Even though Todd had that good green stuff, the best in the city, Misty should have had a back-up plan. Now, what was she going to do? She checked the time. She still had a half-hour before she had to pick her mom up from her corny, line-dancing class. She picked up her cell and scrolled through the contact list. Jocko. Jocko was a Jamaican dude, who had some real good ganja, but his high prices were ridiculous. But, anxious to get high, she called his number. The call went straight to voicemail. Goddamn!
    Misty continued scrolling through her list of numbers until she reached the name Young Buck. Who the fuck was Young Buck? “Oh! Monroe!” She suddenly remembered. Monroe was the young fool she’d taken on a joyride and tossed him her thong as a