“Michael Jordan didn’t start winnin’ championships till the right coach came on board. And that’s what I am, that’s what I do. I’m da coach. I point you in the right direction. Listen, sweetheart, you got superstar written all over you. But you ain’t neva gonna make it to da big dance witout me … All dat glitters ain’t gold. You fuckin’ wit da wrong people at da right time. You wastin’ ya potential hon, fuckin’ wit these rinky-dink clubs and lame-ass niggas. I could hook you up wit my escort service or massage parlor downtown that only caters to rich crackers. They’d love ya ta death. You’d make a muthafuckin’ killin’ … Wit ya beauty and my brains we’d …”

Tender stared blankly at Jules, thinking he didn’t look like a pimp. Well, he didn’t look like any pimp she’d ever seen on TV. They had flashy clothes, big hats and women hanging all over them. Those days were long gone, replaced by a new breed of wannabe pimps and baby macks.

Jules continued, beating Tender in the head with his bullshit. “You like money, right, Tender? Yeah, I know you do! I can tell by da fly-ass clothes dat you be wearin’ … But iz you ready ta go all out? Ta take ya game to da next level, you gotta be ready ta do da damn thing. I’m talkin’ car money, house money. Fuck a mink and those clothes! They go in and outta style. I’m talkin’ about purchasing things dat hold some weight in dis world … I know you VIPing and e’rything. If da price is right, you’ll fuck a nigga all night. Feel me now, Tender, you up in here shakin’ ya ass, nig-gas feelin’ on you. Sometimes fa free or givin’ you whateva he wants to, a dolla or two. A lousy fuckin’ single! Now tell me, what da fuck is a dolla ta a queen like you? Na’mean. Tenda, if you roll wit a nigga like me, I promise you, we gone eat fa real.”

Tender gave him a “Nigga, Please! Save your breath” look. She wasn’t the least bit moved by what he had been saying. Tender may have been young and new to the game, but she was far from dumb.

“… So whatcha say?” Jules asked confidently, ignoring the look that was plastered on her face. “You wit me or what? Girl, what I’m tryin’ ta say iz, lemme help you help yaself ….”

Jules was thinking that Kat was probably the only thing standing in the way of him copping Tender. If she hadn’t brainwashed or pulled her coat to his game then he had as good a shot as any pimp in the club of pulling her into his stable. It might break his back, it might make him cry, but nothing beats a failure except a try, he always told himself.