With that surprise stack of cash burning a hole in his pocket, Leon picked up the pace and headed straight back to the shared house.
A thousand bucks might only buy a decent tie for some Wall Street prick in Manhattan, but in Brownsville it was enough to get your throat cut. Junkies' brains automatically converted every dollar into grams of amphetamine — pure deadly temptation.
He was literally one block from the front door when a sign on the corner stopped him cold.
Barber shop.
T-Ray had drilled it into him: Do not touch the signature long hair. Cutting it would kill the "Street Jesus" image that was already spreading around the hood.
Leon stood there for a long second… then walked straight in anyway.
This wasn't just about cleaning up his hair. This was him saying goodbye to the old, pathetic version of his life.
He had them trim the length just a little, then shave off the scruffy beard. When he looked in the mirror, the guy staring back was completely transformed — sharp, dangerous, like Brad Pitt playing the vampire Louis in Interview with the Vampire.
His eyes burned with heat. He dropped a twenty on the counter and headed next door to the thrift store without looking back.
Even the second-hand clothes here were miles better than the crusty work pants and shirt he'd been living in.
He skipped the five- and ten-dollar charity tees — those were the same rags people donated to churches that somehow ended up back on the rack.
Instead he dropped eighty bucks on a clean pair of AJ1s that still had life in them, then fifty more on a full Nike tracksuit.
When he stepped back onto the sidewalk, he walked different. The clothes weren't expensive, but in Brownsville they made him look like somebody who had his shit together.
Feet still on ghetto pavement, but his mind was already across the river in Manhattan.
A dark little fantasy bloomed in his chest: one day he was going to pin this whole fucking city down and fuck it raw like the whore it was.
Back at the house, Bonnie was in the middle of doing her makeup. The second she saw the new Leon her mouth actually fell open.
She'd only picked him up originally because of his pretty-boy face. Now that he'd cleaned up, the way she looked at him changed completely — pure lioness staring at fresh meat, eyes glassy and dripping.
"WTF, can you not stare at me like that? You're scaring me." Leon collapsed onto the couch and lit a cigarette. "It's not even your shift yet. Why the war paint?"
"Look at what you're wearing — one piece of fabric on top, one on the bottom. You might as well be naked."
Watching her right now, Leon had a bad feeling. Maybe the pressure had finally broken her and she was about to start turning tricks on the corner.
"I've got a really important date tonight!"
Date?
Did Bonnie actually have a boyfriend now?
Her sex life was none of his business no matter how messy it got, but it probably meant he'd have to find a new place to crash.
So he went straight into PUA mode. "You got a man now?"
"I'm telling you, be careful. Half the guys in Brownsville are walking STD factories — HPV, syphilis, even full-blown HIV."
"Clean, respectable guys like me are rare."
Bonnie bent over laughing so hard her tits almost spilled out. "What the hell are you thinking?"
"It's my girl Lisa's birthday tonight. You've heard of that bitch, right?"
Lisa?
Leon had a vague memory. Dirty dreads, Black chick built like a 150-pound Tiger tank. The combo was hard to forget — and even harder to get hard for.
Yet that same walking tank made more money at the strip club than Bonnie the blonde bombshell.
Simple math: eighty percent of Brownsville was Black, and no nigga alive could resist an ass like two millstones grinding.
So Bonnie — who knew damn well she was prettier and had a better body — had been quietly competing with Lisa for years. Surface sisters, backstage enemies.
After she finished painting on that blood-red lipstick, Bonnie suddenly sighed, sounding genuinely down. "I still don't get what she has that I don't."
"You've got everything on her. I'm dead serious." For once Leon wasn't bullshitting; his tone was sincere.
"Really? Then why did she get picked as a backup dancer for Beyoncé's show and not me?"
"What?! Her?"
Even backup dancer was huge.
Because it was Beyoncé.
The woman they called "Queen Bey" wasn't just one of the biggest divas in pop — she was a living New York totem.
Her husband Jay-Z had started as a Brooklyn drug dealer. Now he was a rapper, label boss, management company owner, and angel investor all at once.
In New York's entertainment scene his word was law. His wife was basically considered a native New Yorker — the undisputed Queen of the city.
She could walk through any of the five boroughs and get treated like royalty.
"You're shocked too, huh?"
"You heard right. In two months, at Beyoncé's Brooklyn show, Lisa's gonna be on the same stage as the Queen herself."
"Goddamn it, why does good shit never happen to me?"
Leon could only shrug. Because you don't have the premium Black skin, baby.
Beyoncé might be mixed, but in everybody's mind she was Black, so of course the opportunities stayed in the family.
"Whatever — how do I look in this?"
"I'm gonna walk into that bitch's birthday party and make her look like a broke-ass peasant!"
Bonnie spun around. The black tube top was fighting for its life trying to contain her tits, flashing miles of pale skin and that deep Mariana Trench that made every man want to explore.
The bottom half was even sluttier — a skin-tight mini skirt that barely covered the bottom of her ass. Even standing still, you could see flashes of color and lace underneath.
Leon raised an eyebrow. "You going to a birthday party or the corner?"
She shot him a wink. "As long as I'm sluttier than Lisa, I don't give a fuck~"
"Oh yeah — you coming with me tonight?"
Leon's whole body jerked. He flicked the cigarette butt away fast. "Nah… I've been real busy lately."
Knowing the kind of people in Bonnie's circle, he shut it down immediately.
"I'm not asking, asshole. That's an order. Otherwise pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house right now!"
"Why do I have to go?" Leon asked, already tasting the bitterness.
"Because you're a celebrity in Brownsville now! My roommate is the famous Street Jesus. I can't wait to see the look on Lisa and all those little bitches' faces when they find out."