Cocktails with a kick (1/6)

By Drum Digital
15 June 2015

Dumi was an opportunist, not a feminist.

Hustlers get hustled, too, Dumi thought to herself, looking at the remnants of the pricey Versace heels. The once sexy footwear lay in four pieces on her bedroom carpet. Privately, Dumi suspected that she deserved the broken heels. Any hustler worth her salt knows that it can happen to her, too.

She sat up in her king-sized bed and looked around at her all-white bedroom. Each piece of furniture was more beautiful than the last, and all of them were stolen goods. The four-poster bed she sat on had been delivered piece by piece after dark in boxes labelled “fresh meat delivery”.

Refusing to let the dark realities of her money and its dubious origins cloud her sunny mood, she stretched out on her sumptuous bed, and idly sang an old Blues number: I’m a-goin’ to Black Mountain with my knife an’ my gun. I’ll cut him if he stands there, an’ I’ll shoot him if he runs.

Yawning, she removed the silk scarf from her head and let her long, black dreadlocks tumble down her back. “Medium height, dark-complexion and curvy” was how any witness would describe her to a cop.

To be continued...

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