Double Dippin'

By Nicole Fa’Lon Garrett

Paperback: 210 pages
Publisher: Writers Pen; 1st edition (September 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 098186080X
ISBN-13: 978-0981860800
Product Dimensions: 8.3 x 5.5 x 0.8 inches

An Excerpt from Double Dippin'

Chapter 1

Overkill

will define herself. naturally. will talk/walk/live/& love her images. her beauty will be.

—Haki Madhubuti

Amber  October 2005

I look at the hand-written instructions that I’ve been given. Clear and simple. Objective: One assailant. Bedroom, first door on the right. Bring him out alive.

I put on my ski mask and night goggles and take my Glock 9mm out of my hip holster. I slowly crack the door to the house and peek around to make sure no one is lurking in the shadows before entering.

Quietly stepping inside, I squat down with my back against the wall and thoroughly scan the living room, dining room, and kitchen. When I’m certain that the coast is clear, I stand up and tiptoe on cat’s feet to the first room on the right.

The door is ajar and the TV goes off when I approach it. I try to look in, but it isn’t open wide enough; however, I hear a drawer on the left side of the room sliding on its rails.

I quickly push the door, drop to the floor and aim the gun in the direction of the moving drawer. The assailant is standing there with a gun already pointed at my head. I roll just in time to miss being shot. I pull my trigger.

Suddenly, an armed man pops out of the closet. At the same time, another one appears in front of the bathroom door. “Oh, shit!”

There was only supposed to be one, I think as I dash behind the bed for shield. After they’ve shot their first rounds at me and are reloading, I stand and shoot the two of them.

The lights flick on. The marquis above all three life-size props, each with two bullet holes to the head, flashes the words MORTALLY WOUNDED.

“Amber, you were supposed to shoot them in the shoulder,” she yells as she does everyday that I make it to this stage of the practice.

I lift my gun and fire three times, shooting each prop in the shoulder.

“Done,” I smirk at the new status report on the marquis which now flashes POST-MORTEM SHOULDER WOUND.

I walk towards the door, so that I can leave the simulation suite. My headache, earache, and toothache are coming in loudly clapping and laughing.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the Black Widow Spider seeping her poison onto everyone in her path again. That’s what you call overkill.”

I look at the contemporary equivalent of the Three Stoogers. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Moe, Larry, and Curly believing that personality is a character trait afforded to the beauties, but not for the geeks,” I motion my hand at them, “who believe that being annoying and obnoxious will suffice.”

I attempt to go around them, but Moe reaches out and touches my stomach. I grab Moe’s wrist and twist his arm, flipping him on his back before I bring both my elbows up and drive them down with force on Larry and Curly’s shoulders. They fall to their knees as I step back and put my foot on Moe’s neck.

“Don’t ever put your fucking hands on me again. Got it?” I look down on him and twist my foot on his neck before removing it.

Curly, who’s still on the floor holding his shoulder, looks up at me in pain, “But we didn’t touch you. So what was that for?”

I beam my Black Widow smile, “Just don’t like you. That’s all.” I step around them and leave the simulation suite and head up to my room to shower. They continue to be idiots in my absence.

“Man, what size you think her waistline is?”

“No bigger than a twenty-four, I bet.”

“I’m telling you, looking up at her with that five inch stiletto on my neck was turning me on.”

“Hell yeah. Shit, she can put her foot on my neck any day.”

They all laugh.