Albert was a bookie, bootlegger, card shark, ladies’ man; sharp as a tack in pinstripes, vest, stingy brim, and spats. He led the sportin life. He was Frankie’s main man.
Frankie was fine as could be. Smooth brown skin, big legs, tits and ass to match with attitude and the sand to back up her stand.
Frankie sashay into the Dew Drop Inn, roll on up to the bar, bucket in her hand. She got beer and Albert on her mind.
“Hey, Dorsey, fill this here bucket with your best beer and tell me if Albert been here. I’m looking for my man to treat me right tonight.”
Dorsey say with a sigh, “I fill your bucket and all your needs, and the beer be on the house. I’ll be your fillin station any time day or night.”
Frankie laugh long and loud. “Dorsey, you be my part-time, back-door, on-the-down-low man when sweet Albert ain’t in town. Right now, I want to get down with my main man.”
Dorsey frown, make an ugly mug. “Frankie, you can see for yourself his face ain’t in the place. Albert, your man, left about an hour ago arm in arm with that hussy Nellie Fry. Frankie, he doin you wrong”
“No, no, not my Albert with that notorious, clap-ridden, cock-suckin, low-down, high-yellow, Katrina refugee. No way would Albert do me wrong.”
Dorsey and the patrons of the Dew Drop Inn sing out, “Frankie, Frankie, fine Frankie, Albert’s your man, your main man it’s true, but baby he’s doin you wrong.”
Frankie stomp her bucket flat, abuse the bar with her fist. Hiss, “Oh, you niggers just tryin to start some mess up in here. Albert’s my main man, and he would never do me wrong.
And the crowd shout back, “Ain’t you listenin? Eighteen pairs of eyes saw them swapping spit. Eighteen pairs of ears heard them talkin shit. Frankie, Frankie, fine, fair Frankie, Albert’s your man, your main man it’s true, but baby he’s doin you wrong.”
Frankie shake the building with a roar as she stomp out the door. She fly to her room and pick up her thirty-eight, her Derringer, her dagger, and her Bowie knife. Albert was her main man but not for long if he was doin her wrong.
Frankie cut across the street to the bookie stand lookin’ for her lovin’ man. Then she shoots down the alley to the speakeasy seeking her sweet lover. She kick open the door of the card room thirty-eight in hand looking for Albert, the love of her life, who was doin her wrong.
Frankie finds them in the Double Down diner. Nellie wiggles on Albert’s lap as he feed her Champagne and coconut cake. Frankie, thirty-eight aimed at Albert, Derringer aimed at Nellie, speak soft and low, “Aint’ much to say on your dyin day. Good-bye, you diseased hoe and you cheatin nigger. Albert, you was doing me wrong.”
Pop! Pop! Went the Derringer as Nellie dropped to the floor two bullets in her butter yellow shoulder. Albert cried, “Frankie, Frankie—” Boom! Boom! Went the thirty-eight “Please, please—” Boom! Boom! Baby, please—” Boom! Boom! Frankie say, “You’ll never again do me wrong.”
The Sheriff tell Frankie, “Dorsey was here to try and go your bail. Frankie, there ain’t no bail for a woman who shoot her man six times and then reloads. What was on your mind?” Frankie smiles, sucks her teeth, licks her lips, “Just like in the song, he was doing me wrong.”
The judge asks Frankie, “What you got to say in your defense?” Frankie answer, “I did a public service, put every cheatin man on notice and gave every betrayed and played woman a guidin’ light. He was my main man, and he paid the price for doing me wrong.”
Frankie has one last request. “Don’t let no hangman put me down. Get a woman to do the deed. And if you can’t find one ask Nellie, that refuse-to-die, bitch, Fry to pull the lever. Nellie’s glad to comply and say, “Albert did love you as best he could. I’ll make damn sure no man ever do you wrong again. Good-bye, Frankie, good-bye. He was doing you wrong.”
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