by Zach Tate
“I don’t care what you do, make sure you always eat breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day. You see, cuz, the brain is what allows you to think fast on the move. If you don’t feed that brain, your slow thinking can get you thrown into the who-scow for life, so eat up.”
I was immediately taken back to being a little kid at the counter in a Staten Island diner while my mother turned tricks outside. In a lot of ways, Yoda’s savvy reminded me of her. It must have been something that came with being in the streets. With thoughts of her skiing through my mind, I wondered if she was turning over in her grave because her son became a thief. All the tricks she had to turn to get me through private school, and I was stealing for a living. Instead of being deterred, I was determined to be the best at it. I was ready, willing, and able to do whatever I had to do. While I was lost in my thoughts at the diner’s counter, Yoda turned to me.
“So what did you learn?” he asked while stuffing food in his mouth.
“I learned that opportunity to get paid is always knocking, and a hustler has to answer the call. I saw how many ways we moved, and I learned to never hesitate.” I hope my answer pleased him.
“Good—good,” he said while wiping runny eggs from his fat lips. “Just remember that the game never, ever stops. Watch this.”
Yoda stood and smiled. He walked up to an older cashier, who had her blonde hair in a bun.
“Oooh, girl, you look spectacular,” he teased while smiling in her face.
The woman’s face exploded into a red smile. Yoda held up the check and paid it. The old lady instantly gave him a discount on our bill. As if that wasn’t enough charm, he looked over at a small display of mints next to the register. He pointed to a pack of Certs. “How much are those sweet lady? And are they as sweet as you?”
“Oh gosh, you’re really trying to make my day, huh? It’s fifty cents,” the lady said, knowing compliments never came her way.
Instead of using the change the woman gave him, Yoda dug into his pocket, removed a $10.00 bill, and handed it to the woman. She broke the bill, and handed him two quarters. He snatched the coins, making a beeline for the door.
“Sir! Sir, you forgot your change,” she yelled.
Yoda turned around and headed back for the woman.
“Your beauty has me so mesmerized that I’m losing money on you already.” The woman blushed again and counted out the nine dollars. Yoda said, “May I have my ten back and I’ll give you a five and five singles?” Again the woman blushed and took the ten-dollar bill he originally gave her. Yoda was determined. He asked, “Well, I owe you a dollar. Why don’t I give you one, and you give me a twenty and we call it even?” To my surprise, Yoda slapped a dollar down. The woman counted the $19.00 on the counter, reached in the register to remove a twenty, and handed it over to Yoda. “You have a wonderful day gorgeous, and I’m coming back for lunch just to see you.”
“Awl shucks,” the woman fluttered while waving off Yoda and putting the bills back into the register.
Smoother than silk, Yoda walked out of the diner and folded the twenty on top of the pile he robbed earlier. I wasn’t exactly sure what really happened in the diner.
“Yo, I think I got it, but what just happened in there?” I quizzed him.
“What happened is, she just paid for our breakfast, ‘cause ain’t no way nine singles from her register make you twenty when you only gave up a buck. The hustle don’t stop, cuz, and every body’s a mark.”
I put the whole scene together real fast. It was planted in my head that I had to really get on my hustle.
$$$
Exhaust and gasoline from the New York Times’ trucks filled my nostrils when we stopped at the Carter hotel. As we stepped into the lobby, Yoda said, “Get cleaned, dressed, and come up to the penthouse within a half an hour.”
I stepped into room 315 and found my freshly cleaned blue outfit and shoes laid out on the bed. It was obvious that Yoda paid the tab. Yoda did all of the robbing that day, which meant that I was still broke.
I was showered, shaved, and dressed to impress within twenty minutes. When I opened the door, I almost jumped out of my skin. The little Asian woman pushed me back in the room.
“You owe hun-dred dolla. You pay now, one way or odda.”
I looked down at the little woman. She was wearing a white button down shirt with a black mini-skirt. She bit her bottom lip while her big round eyes undressed me. Resting her eyes on my erection, she brushed her breasts and then locked onto my eyes.
With each step we took towards each other, the space between us disintegrated. She stepped out of her slippers and loosened her ponytail. I sat on the bed and reached for her waist as she pushed me down. The hustle don’t stop. The hustle don’t stop, was playing in my head. Hungry for my love, she climbed on top of me. I looked into her wanting brown eyes and held her back. I couldn’t do it; all I could think about was making money with Yoda. “Later. Later baby. I see you tonight.”
“Too night?” She exploded with a big smile. “I like you. You, me, okay?”
I nodded, indicating that we had a deal. She stood, put her feet in her slippers, and walked out. I watched her small frame drift away. I exhaled, then asked myself, “What type of dream am I in?”
I reached Yoda’s penthouse feeling underdressed. He was dressed in a gray pinstripe suit with a pair of black wing-tipped shoes. I spotted a black suitcase resting on the bed when I walked in. “You going out of town or something?” I inquired.
He walked over to the suitcase. When he tossed back the lid, I saw the bottles of fake wine we made the day before. Each bottle was packaged in a plastic bag and wrapped in a white towel. He closed the bag, and stood it up so the bottles wouldn’t break.
“Cuz, we going somewhere. It’s a different world, but it ain’t out of town. Grab that bag and come on. Let’s go earn some money.”
I didn’t know where we were going, and I wasn’t going to ask. As sharp as I was dressed, I was ready to follow him to hell if he wanted to go.
During the elevator ride I broke my silence. “Yo, Yoda, some little chick came into my room and told me that I owe her money.”
“So?”
“Well, I guess she want’s to get paid for the room I’m staying in.”
“And how is that my problem, cuz?”
“It’s my problem, but I need some paper from what we made this morning.”
“Cuz, the game is to be sold, not told. You know the rules.”
He was right, but I was about to be homeless. I didn’t want to touch my nest egg. I made a final plea. “Man, she trying to make me lay her to keep my room,” I said in distress.
He ignored my distress call and looked at the numbers on the elevator descend.
“That’s Suki. She harmless, but dead serious about her money. Her husband won’t leave that counter and give her what she needs. Some men been in worst situations than you. Maybe you’ll see things her way? At least you’ll have a roof over your head, cuz.”
“Man, you tripping.”
“Maybe so, but I bet you gonna hustle today or sell your body tonight? You decide if you’re a whore or a hustler. You already got the answer to your question.”
The elevator chimed. The bell should have been to a boxing ring, because I planned on returning as a champion of hustling.
The cool pavement and subtle breeze made the suit comfortable. I never had a white-collar job before. Hustling was just like the army, the suit was my uniform. I didn’t know where we were going, but when I cut the corner on Seventh Avenue, someone bumped me so hard that I thought my shoulder blade flew out of socket.
“What?” the gorilla grunted.
Black Justice stood directly in front of me with his chest heaving, waiting for me to make a move. I looked over to Yoda for direction, but he simply nodded at Justice nonchalantly and continued hailing a yellow cab. I nervously stepped around my overgrown opponent and dashed into the waiting car door.
“What w
as that about?” I asked Yoda in the cab while trying to put my shoulder back in place.
“You picked the fight. Should of picked one you could win,” he said, ending my inquiry. Yoda looked out the window, watching the buildings fly by.
When we reached Fifth Avenue at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, the cab came to a sudden halt. Yoda reached into the suitcase, pulled out an unwrapped bottle and then paid the cabby. As I was getting out of the seat with the suitcase in hand, a man rushed up to the cab. Yoda bumped him and dropped the bottle. I heard the crash and smelled the pungent odor of cheap wine.
“My dear God,” said Yoda. He instantly slammed the car door, preventing the culprit who broke the bottle from escaping. When the cabby pulled away, Yoda looked down at the bottle, then up at the flustered White stranger in a suit. He yelled, “The Cardinal is going to kill me. Why in God’s green earth didn’t you watch where you were going?”
I thought the man made an honest mistake, but he pleaded, “I’m terribly sorry, I was just in a hurry to catch a cab. I have to go.”
Yoda was removing the wet receipt from the bag. He put the receipt, dripping with wine, into the man’s face. “This is a two hundred dollar bottle of wine that is needed for Holy Communion. How in heaven’s name do you expect me to explain this to Cardinal O’Connor?”
Upon hearing the cardinal’s name, the man’s eyes expanded. He looked down at the receipt, then at me, and then at Yoda, who looked as if he was about to cry. He then reached into his wallet, and removed $300. He crossed himself before saying, “May you and God please forgive me for my hasty movements. Please go and replace the bottle before the Cardinal realizes it was broken. Again, please forgive me.”
The vic hurriedly walked away in the middle of the street until he caught another cab. Yoda folded the bills, reached down into the suitcase, and removed another bottle. As we were walking up the steps to the cathedral, an older woman, who was wearing designer clothes from head to toe, just happened to walk into Yoda’s path. CRASH, the bottle dropped. It was like Yoda turned into another character, much different from the one he used to deal with the man. He became imposing and animated. “White woman, won’t you watch where the hell you going?” Yoda yelled in an ignorant tone to the flustered woman. “That’s a two hundred dollar bottle and I ain’t about to have to call the police or the members of the parish out here for my money.” He put his hands on his head, then over his eyes. “I can’t do a damn thing right. I’m just trying to go to church and give the Cardinal a bottle of Chateau Latour for Holy Communion, and here you come along.”
The lady started waving a hand up in distress. “Please calm down, sir. It’s no big deal.” She started waving both of her hands into a frenzy. Her thin lips and newly lifted face quivered from her own foolishness. “What does a bottle of Chateau cost?” She reached into her purse and removed a checkbook. “What? Two hundred—one seventy-five maybe? I’ll write a check for that amount. Just tell me who to make it out to?”
“That still don’t replace my wine or allow me to go to services. I’m not about to go to services empty handed. I can’t even show my face in there,” Yoda said to the point of yelling.
The woman looked at Yoda firmly. “Okay two fifty, for your time and trouble. To whom do I make out the check?”
He stomped his feet on the church step, feigning defeat. “Damn, I wanted to go to services today.” He sighed. “Make the check out to the Carter hotel, that’s who I was presenting the bottle on behalf of.”
I couldn’t keep myself from laughing, but then Yoda shot me a determined look. Okay, we were conducting serious business, so I pulled myself together.
The woman handed Yoda the check and walked into the cathedral. We made a U-turn and crossed the street.
“Hand me another bottle,” Yoda said when we were hidden between two parked cars.
I removed the bottle a little too eager. “I got the next one,” I uttered while passing him the heavy suitcase.
I was too anxious, but confident that I could pull the hustle off. I was ready to find my first victim. Yoda put his hand on my chest and asked, “You sure you ready for this, cuz? I just make it look easy.”
“I got this, I got this. Like taking candy from a baby,” I told him.
I spotted my victim walking with his wife and children amongst a crowd of sightseers. I was sure he would be easy. With his kids and all, I knew he would do the right thing by paying for the bottle he was about to break. He was a stocky man drinking canned soda with three family members next to him.
I left Yoda standing there. I strolled with my chest out, all dignified in the man’s direction. He was casually walking towards me. I quickly dipped behind a pedestrian in front of me on the busy sidewalk. When I walked right in front of my mark, he bumped me and I dropped the bottle. The whole family stepped back.
“Oh my, God! My expensive bottle of wine,” I said theatrically.
As I was bending to dig for the wet receipt, I heard, “Why the hell don’t you watch where you’re going?” It was the mark’s wife. Things weren’t going according to plan.
I held the receipt up to the mark. He looked at his wife’s disgruntled eyes. In a deep Brooklyn accent he said, “Yeah—hey, youse stoopid or somethin’? Get dat bill outta my mug. If you wooda watched where’s youse was walking, youse wooda had your wine, you boozer.” He flipped me his middle finger and walked away.
I looked over for assistance from Yoda. He was leaned up against a car with his legs crossed. He showed no sympathy. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I stepped to approach the man again. I was headed for battle with the family until Yoda put his hands up.
“Cuz, I think I know what the problem is. Your friends called you John, huh? Back when you lived like a square, right?”
“That’s right.”
Yoda shook his head like I was revealing a secret. “Well, you Johnny Hustle now. You got to play the part like this is the greatest movie of your life. Hollywood ain’t got nothing on a hustler. Every time you pull a sting, you got to get into character. ACTION!” he yelled then stepped closer to make his point. “Feed off the prey at the right opportunity. If the lion tried to chase any piece of meat, he would be exhausted and starve. Have finesse, cuz. Let it come natural. Be Johnny Hustle everyday until the day you die. I’m starting you off on this petty stuff ‘cause you in basic training. If you can’t get through this, you better square up again.” I saw the uneasiness in his eyes. He handed me another bottle. “Show me you want the bigger payday. Now move like a hawk and watch your mark.”
I took the bottle with renewed confidence. I put myself in a different mindset. Before that, I was playing the character of a square whose bottle broke by accident. But not anymore.
I walked on the downtown side of Fifth Avenue for close to five minutes. When I reached the beginning of a block, my mark came to me. A tall well-dressed man exited a building and actually bumped into my shoulder. It was the same side Black Justice had a piece of, so the bottle really fell from my hands. I looked up at the stranger in anger. He heaved a sigh of irritation, looked at the awaiting car in the street, and then looked back to me. “Alright. How much it cost?” he asked and fondled his pocket at the same time. “Let’s make it quick, my car is waiting on me.”
A gold Rolls Royce was parked in the street with an impatient chauffeur holding the door while constantly checking his watch. Before I had a chance to remove the receipt, I pulled out the top half of the broken bottle. The mark leaned in, read the name on the bottle, and pulled out a money clip. He spun five $50.00 bills. He handed them to me uninterested, and went to his ride. For a better effect, I stood looking down at the empty bottle until the mark pulled off.
As I picked up the broken bottle, a large White woman stopped in front of me. I looked up from her fat, rust-colored(?), penny loafers to find her watching me. “Did someone break your bottle, sir?” she asked in a velvet tone.
I was about to brush her off. Then I thought about Yoda�
�s wisdom. I took the life out of my voice and started whining. “Sure. Some jerk just bumped into me, jumped into his car, and left me here. It’s a two hundred-dollar bottle. The jerk acted as if he did nothing wrong. White people have no compassion.”
She put her hand to her mouth in alarm. “Ohhh, don’t be that way,” she negotiated. “We’re all not that way,” she said convincingly.
“Well, I’m out of two hundred bucks and he didn’t care, so why should you?” I hoped she would take the bait.
She dug around inside her pocketbook. After finding her purse, she pulled out five twenties. “Here, now maybe that can change your mind about White people?”
I was genuinely touched by her generosity. For a split second I was ready to refuse, but I was committed to the game.
“Hand it over, cuz. You did good and made up for the last blunder. Let’s head down to the Carter and work off the rest. Let me see you do your thang.”
For the rest of the afternoon, I was extra careful of the marks I picked. One bottle after the other crashed, and I got paid for each one. Sometimes under the fake cost, and sometimes over. By the time we were a block away from the Carter, the suitcase was empty. Yoda had all the money I made in his pocket. I knew I had to earn my keep, I just didn’t know for how long.
$$$
Yoda took me back to his penthouse when we were finished. We had $4,800 at the end of the day. Plus the petty cash from earlier in the morning. When it was time to divvy the loot, Yoda counted out $1,300 for me. He scrutinized my expression as if he thought that I was going to complain. He failed to realize how grateful I was to receive the lessons he taught me. In that one day, he showed me how to make more money than I had earned in a long time, and no one was physically hurt. As a matter of fact, all the marks freely handed their money over. When there was a knock at the door, I knew it could only have been two people.