One Hustler's World

by Nikita Stewart

  Driving through the neighborhood one late night, he spied strange activity within his Trice Terrace courtyard. He parked one block over on Scott Street. With a shirt tied around his face, KT slipped into the shadows. Approaching the darkened Trice Terrace Apartments courtyard, he witnessed Dynamo being pummeled with beer bottles. A Vice Lords gang sect was vying for the entire Ingleside narcotics market.

  KT drew his gray, 380 caliber Smith & Wesson and charged into the gang assault. Dropping three Vice Lords, he led a bloodied, badly beaten Dynamo to safety. Ever since they have been close friends. He was one of the few men KT considers a friend.

  He plucked the cigarillo roach out of the Nissan Pathfinder driver window and eyed Dynamo intensely. “How much you be copping? Not counting what you probably get from yo plug on consignment.”

  “A zone (ounce) here, a couple there.”

  “If we do this, it gotta be my way. First, you only score from me. If I can’t find the best work, we go off-line until I do. I’ll teach you my hustle scheme. My zones go for $950. Follow my scheme, you’re guaranteed to make no less than $2,100. You trapping doe-low, do you. The same goes for me. When we trapping together, we rotate sales. That way, one of us always watching for the other.”

  Befuddled, Dynamo asked. “How do we rotate sales when we don’t know who might come to cop what?”

  “Somebody comes to you with $1,000, the next pluck mine. If that pluck comes to me begging for a lookout, tough shit, that’s on me. The next pluck yours, and that goes vice versa. When you ready to cop at least a half a clip (18 ounces/half a kilo), we talk discount shopping.”

  “If I’m scoring from you, I need to know who you be scoring from. That way, if something goes wrong, I know who to go after.”

  “Who my plug is irrelevant. But since we linking up, let me holla at the plug first. The plug doesn’t mind you knowing. You’ll know.” KT extended his right hand. “So, we walking or riding?” His handshake accepted, he maneuvered his Nissan Pathfinder down Norfolk’s Corprew Avenue.

  Hundreds of people were congregating along the Norfolk State University outskirts. Both men surmised the Norfolk State Spartans versus Hampton Pirates college football game was sold out. Letting Dynamo out, KT turned into the nearby Spartan Village residential community, searching for a parking space. After an exhausting search, he found Dynamo sitting on the Norfolk State University library steps, in the company of three beautiful women.

  Though beautiful women were out in droves, KT couldn’t take his eyes off the one garnering his friend’s undivided attention. Her powder blue Yves Saint Laurent pantsuit & matching 3-inch Christian Louboutin heels gave her 6’0, 155, hour-glass curved pounds an aura of conservation sexiness. The closer KT got, the faster his heart raced. His palms were slick. His brow was tight.

  Though the woman conversed with Dynamo, her large, daisy green eyes studied the stranger’s approach.

  KT introduced himself to the other two women. He pulled Dynamo aside. He whispered loud enough for the green-eyed majestic to hear him. “Ace, lemme holla at my cousin right quick.”

  Dynamo eyed them both suspiciously. “Yawl family?”

  Her smile outshining the sun, the woman shrugged. “Sorry to say we are.”

  KT led her away from the group. “What’s good, cuzo?”

  “That was so wrong.”

  “NO WAY was I letting my ace holla my future wife.”

  She sucked her teeth. “You started strong, then threw in that whack ass line.”

  “How about I start over.” KT extended his hand and formally introduced himself.

  The woman refused his handshake. Only to find herself being pulled into his body. Unable to break free, she spat. “Excuse you!”

  KT was taken by her sneer. Her brilliant, light caramel skin tone and dark, shoulder-length hair ricocheted against the sunshine. KT noticed Dynamo’s agitation. He forced her arms around his neck and pulled her into his unwanted hug.

  The woman pried his arms off of her and fired off. “How dare you! You got me fucked all the way up!”

  KT grabbed her hand, stalling her departure. “I’m sorry beautiful, but I always dreamt about touching an angel. If I disrespected you in any way, I truly apologize, Ms....”

  “Keisha, you smug bastard.”

  “I deserve that.” He extended his arms and tightened his chin. “Cause I put my hands on you, put yours anywhere you want... hard as you want.”

  “Don’t think I don’t want to. So be glad I rather not knock you out cold in front of everybody because you deserve it.”

  “I’m sure you heard all types of slick pick-up lines, so l won’t go there.”

  “Especially since that first one was sailor, boat boy lame.” She jeered. She somehow bruised his precious male ego. “Your friend liable to beat you up for lying to him like that.”

  KT glimpsed Dynamo conversing with the other two women. “If my fam gone break me in half, long as you there to tend to my wounds, it’ll be worth it.”

  Keisha burst into laughter. “Good comeback. Because a second lame pick-up line would’ve turned me off for good.”

  “What turns you on? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Patience and honesty.”

  “Honestly, you’re gorgeous. And I would love to show you just how patient I can be in pursuit of you.”

  “Let me ask you something... when you first saw me, was the first thing that came to mind sex?”

  “Real talk, I was scared to holler at you. But to answer yo question... without a doubt.”

  “So, how do you convince me that’s not all you want?”

  KT shrugged. “No idea. And I can’t spit some line to change that because I can’t honestly say what else I want.”

  “Excuse you!”

  “Look beauty__.”

  “Keisha to you!”

  “Keisha...” He conceded. “One thing I do know is how to treat a woman. And that’s the way she deserves to be treated.”

  "So basically, all you trying to do is sleep with me. All these women out here, keep trying... you'll find a quick bitch."

  The situation spiraling out of control, KT defied conventional wisdom. "Trill talk, I'm trying to do all kinda freaky stuff to you. Taste your cum. Put hickies everywhere, see if you are willing to do the same to me. And yeah, that's the first thing that came to mind. But everything beyond that is on you."

  "And what in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated. If you a bitch, that's the treatment you get. But if you a Nubian goddess, which I'll bet my life you are, then that's the treatment."

  Her arms folded, Keisha studied this slick talker. He stood 6'1, 206lbs of blemish-free darkness. His eyes were deep, dark, plagued by loss. He maintained his low, wavy Caesar haircut. He was wearing a blueberry short sleeve, silk button-down shirt, jeans, and retro Nike, Bo Jackson sneakers. A gold chain and diamond-encrusted Neptune emblem dangled against his navel. A gold Ulysse Nardin designer watch was clasp to his left wrist. He was overly confident, outright cocky, arrogant.

  Keisha pretended to gaze upon her friends and glimpsed KT’s friend Dynamo. He was wearing a dark t-shirt, jeans, and Gortex boots. His bald head gleamed in the brilliant sunlight.

  She finally met his gaze and asked. "You think that game of yours spandex tight, don’t you?"

  "I don't, but I love the fact you do." KT quickly countered. "Now I gotta question... You feeling me?"

  "The truth?"

  "Raw and uncut."

  "I like my man with corn-rolls or bald. Not to mention a little lighter-skinned. You charcoal."

  KT asked. "Which one is he?"

  "Is who?"

  "Yo man... Corn-rolls or bald? Not to mention a little lighter-skinned."

  Keisha chuckled. "That's neither here nor there. We split a few weeks ago."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  "No, you're not."

  "Absolutely." He admitted. "You know
, maybe you need a change in direction. As far as what you’re attracted to.”

  Keisha allowed his hand to softly overtake hers. “I never thought of it like that.”

  "Where we go from here if anywhere your call to make. But if nothing else, I hope we can at least be friends."

  "If you truly are a man of your word, I don't see why not."

  "You got my word. If you give me yo number, I'll call all day, every day."

  "What if I already gave your friend my number?"

  KT pulled her into his one-arm embrace. Hips lips intentionally grazing her earlobe, he whispered. "We getting you a new cellphone."

  Keisha entered her number into his phone. “The game’s sold-out. So, what do you guys have lined up as a backup plan?"

  "I'm driving you to the moon if it means we can spend more time together."

  Keisha jabbed his midsection. Treasuring his playful wince, she glared at him agitatedly. "That's for being a jabber-jaw. Now turn off the game. Because if we do anything beyond this point, it won't be because you woo'ed me."

  "I respect that." KT followed her back to the group. He invited the women to the movies and/or Putt-Putt Golf & Games. The offer respectfully declined; once Dynamo exchanged numbers with an alluring, honey-colored woman, the men excused themselves.

  Keisha watched KT maneuver a black Nissan Pathfinder race down Corprew Avenue. She rejoined her girlfriends on the library steps and said, “I think we got action."

  She's too crafty a woman to invent a new lie,

  when an old one will serve

  -William Somerset Maugham 1874-1965

  CHAPTER 5

  It was beautiful and simple as all truly great swindles are

  -O. Henry 1862-1910

  Trice Terrace

  Ingleside Apartments, Norfolk

  9 pm 3 days later

  For the past three hours, KT & Dynamo took turns servicing the near-continuous parade of crack consumers filing into their joint distribution hub—business was booming. With his phone perched between his neck & shoulder blade, KT conversed with Keisha about everything and nothing at all. Only when the low battery warning flashed did he reluctantly conclude the call.

  Every second seemingly a yearlong, he quickly found himself longing for her harmonic vocal tone. The more he thought about her, the more his heart rate accelerated. From the moment KT first saw Keisha, something about his world changed. He could feel his stance against an exclusive relationship beginning to soften. Which brought his thoughts to Neosha, his high-school sweetheart turned bane of One Hustler's World.

  ∗

  The night before Neosha's family was set to move to Cincinnati, Ohio, she informed KT about the permanent relocation. She confessed to being pregnant and the decision to terminate. She also revealed a sexual relationship with his brother. She wasn’t sure who the would-be father was. Neosha slept with his brother out of retribution because of his sexual escapades with Yolanda.

  ∗

  KT checked his smartphone battery power bar a third time. He shoved it back inside his pocket then joined Dynamo at the tree near the middle of the courtyard. "The trap rolling avalanche thick."

  "Bout time yo ass got off that fucking phone."

  "Come on, ace, don't tell me you still salty about what happened the other day."

  Dynamo eyed him disgustedly. "That shit you pulled was foul. You don’t throw dirt on a dude you claim to fuck with like that."

  "Cut it out, ace. It wasn't that serious."

  "You played me like some broke-ass turkey sandwich."

  For the umpteenth time, KT apologized if his actions regarding Keisha were taken out of context. He admitted to lying about her being his cousin. It was selfish and self-serving. "Fam, you act like you still didn't bag something special. We got plans to see em tomorrow. Play it right, we liable to tag-team they sexy asses."

  Dynamo spat. "Even if Keisha was with it, that's beside the point. Muthafuckas say you be on some fuck everybody shit. Right now, that's all I'm seeing."

  Again, KT conceded to his friend's anger. "Say the word, I won't deal with shorty from here on out. I’ll delete her number and block the shit."

  "Dat bitch the only thing you seeing right now." Dynamo tapped on his shoulder welcomed a seasoned crack addict's intervention. He gestured to his counterpart then walked away.

  KT was unable to wrap his brain around why his friend was still upset. He addressed the slim, badly twitching man eager to make a purchase. "Talk to me.”

  “Whatcha gimme for half-hundred?"

  "You can get a slab, but that'll take fifteen, twenty minutes." From his butt-crack, KT unveiled a small plastic-wrapped bundle. "Or you can take these fifteen joints right here."

  The transaction complete, KT took care of another addict. He jogged over to one of his nearby stashes as Dynamo sauntered into the night. Something was off. KT gave the previous customer fifteen nickel baggies for $50. The man never came with anything above $12 before now. KT took a closer look at the $50 bill. All the numbers, as well as the big face, were glued perfectly to the bill. He peeled the attachments away. He cursed the stupidity of his selling $45 worth of crack for $1.

  KT stepped into the open courtyard in time to see the crack-addicted con artist jogging down the block. He gave chase. The man was malnourished and twitching erratically. Being pursued empowered him to move with the urgency of a world-class sprinter. KT, winded and unable to gain ground, stopped running. Ready to accept the loss, he spied a distant, tall, dark figure's sudden emergence.

  The man snatched the fleeing con artist by his shoulders and slammed him into a parked car. KT, rushing over, seized the thief around the throat. "You know what getting caught means."

  The agony-stricken man clutched at his side and whimpered. "Please, nephew, I'm hurting... He might've broken my ribs."

  KT slammed two knees into the smaller man's midsection. He caught him mid-collapse and spun him around. He wrapped his arms underneath the man's armpits, across his shoulders, and interlocked his fingers behind the man’s neck. With the crack addict in a Full Nelson submission hold, KT shook him violently then slammed the man face-first onto the car hood.

  The unconscious thief slithered to the ground. KT rummaged through the man’s pockets and retrieved his merchandise. Suddenly, he leaped back from the shudder of a zipper unclasping. "Dynamo, what the hell you doing!"

  “Gotta piss might as well take it here.”

  The injured man’s face was rained upon. His lungs were quickly filled with a putrid liquid. Woozy and too injured to flee, he was forced to withstand a golden shower. He wept. "Dis fucked ... you'ne ha-da do me like dis."

  KT gave the man the fifteen baggies back if he agreed to forget about his humiliation.

  Dynamo watched the urine-soaked man stagger into the night, then said, "You see what real niggaz do. Even after you snake me for some bitch, I looked out for you. I felt like letting dude run right by me, but real still recognize real."

  "Dude could wear the ass whooping cause he ran off with my shit. But pissing on em, you took his dignity. So, I threw him the coke back to keep his ass from calling Poe-9." KT laid forth. "So, we even.”

  Walking back to the courtyard, he addressed what took place. Being taken advantage of by the crack addict led to his lashing out violently. Such actions cannot be allowed to happen again. If he or Dynamo happens to fall prey to such ploys, they needed to simply accept the loss.

  Dynamo replied. "If dude would’ve called Poe-9 or went to the hospital, we could've had our trap spot shut down over a few bags. Not to mention probably two felonies, maybe more, depending on what he told Poe-9."

  "Let’s focus on keeping our trap rolling. Let these quarter gangstas out here do the dumb shit."

  "You know, the OG-loc pulled up on me, talking about it’s time for me to get quoted in."

  "What did you say?"

  Dynamo’s attention was drawn to a dusty, early model Honda Prelude bending the Trice Terrace/ Gat
ling Avenue corner. He asked. "Who that?"

  KT waved off his friend's suspicion. "The driver good. She always got at least fifty."

  Dynamo made his way to the driver's side. The window descending, he leaned inside the car and greeted the lone white woman warmly. "What it be, Ms. Lady?"

  She gestured towards KT. "I rather deal with Black over there. He got the best stuff."

  "Same product, same price, same deals."

  "Same deal for a half hundred?"

  Dynamo showed her a plastic-wrapped bundle of baggies. "Fifteen joints."

  The woman grabbed his wrist while simultaneously flooring the accelerator. The engine roaring, she dragged him alongside her vehicle. Once the unfamiliar drug dealer dropped the bundle of crack inside her car, she let him go.

  Dynamo tumbled along the asphalt. Leaping to his feet, he drew a black, 9mm Hi-Point semi-automatic and opened fire on the fleeing Honda Prelude. The rear window exploding, the car raced around the Trice Terrace/Seay Avenue corner.

  His clothes were ruined. Both of the soles of his Gortex boots were torn away. Blood ran down his asphalt-scraped arms, hands, and legs. Dynamo, able to hear the Honda Prelude accelerating in the distance, took off through their courtyard rear. He dashed through the large grass clearing separating Trice Terrace and Scott Street. He emerged from behind a Scott Street apartment building in time to catch the fleeing vehicle crossing the Scott Street/Trant Avenue intersection. Dynamo again fired upon the car until 12 round magazine clip ran dry.

  Winded, his body racked with abrasions, he stormed past a late-arriving, gun-carrying KT.

  Accomplice, n. One associated with anything in a crime,

  having guilty knowledge and complicity

  -Ambrose Bierce 1906

  CHAPTER 6

  When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind

  -John Dryden 1631-1700

  Hilton Hotel Suite 808

  Coastal Highway, Ocean City, Maryland

  6 pm following Saturday

  Marijuana smoke swirling about the quaint quarters, the movie Love & Basketball illuminated the 32-inch flat-screen. Soft R & B humming through the surround sound speaker system, Dynamo pulled a bottle of chilled 1961 Cabernet Sauvignon from the champagne bucket. He filled four glass flutes then took a sip of the exquisite white wine. "This the type of action that makes damn near living on the trap worthwhile."