The Legend of Johnny Hustle: The Come Up

by Zach Tate

  8

  On the Stroll

  After the incident with Yoda and the vampire, I laid low for a week. I had to make sure things were cooling down. For the entire week, I made love to Suki in the morning, hung with the kids all day, and then had sex with Roxy at night.

  Thanks to the moves I made with Proverb, my greatest accomplishment was getting the girls set for school. I even had Keiki reading for the first time in her life. She was brilliant. She did know how to read, but was rusty at it. When Keiki was younger, before her mother got strung out, she went to school. In an effort to numb the pain caused by Keiki and Mimi’s father, their mother turned to drugs. Like my father, he was a dope-fiend who left Kimmy strung out and pregnant with Mimi.

  I did everything I could for those girls, and it was my intention to do the best I could with what I had.

  $$$

  On the first Monday morning in September of 1989, I stepped into the center of Times Square ready to find a hustle to run. Miraculously, the gorilla on my back was there in front of me with his chest heaving and his fist clenched. Instead of living in fear, I approached the situation head on. Eyeball to red eyeballs, I said, “Black Justice? What’s the problem?”

  “You the problem.” His asthmatic voice and corroded breath blasted me. “You ain’t gonna be the king, if I can help it, so watch your back,” he gasped while walking off.

  Black Justice was a Crack head. He uncontrollably licked his lips, his eyes darted, and he rocked back and forth when he spoke. Money Russ was more reckless than I thought.

  As I got focused, Phil with bills came over. “Johnny Hustle, how ‘bout you hold me down while I bust these vics?”

  “What’s the game?” I asked.

  “Kid named Billy Flemming from Brooklyn. He hustle up in Accord, New York. He want some pee-cee-pee. Say he got paper from the whole town to re-up—I saw the five grand. While I go hook up a batch, you sap wrap wit him, elevate him for me, and make sure he leaves town once I give him the package. Me and you split the five down the middle.”

  The deal sounded simple enough for me, and since it was minimum risk, I went along with the plan. The kid named Billy was a hard rock with all black clothes and long dreads. My first impression was that the kid was a touch off. He looked like he could get emotional in a heartbeat. I told him that it was best we walked and talked because the police were onto us. After walking around for a bit, I told him to hand me the cash, go wait in a peep show, and the package would be delivered to him. He agreed. When he handed me the bag of money, I blended on him and ended up in Proverb’s shop. Like a man of honor, I split the cash. I took Phil’s half out with me in the same bag and threw it into the garbage can on the corner. Ten minutes later, Phil saw me on the corner of 42nd Street, standing in front of the Optimo Cigar shop. He panicked while puffing on his foul smelling cigar.

  “What happened? Where the vic? You chased him away?” he asked, panicking.

  I was annoyed, so I pointed to the garbage can. “Your cut of the sting is in that brown paper bag. Technically, we can walk away right now with the mark’s cash. I’m sure it will come back to haunt you by the looks of that kid, so drop the work off in the peep show. He waiting on you and can’t wait to get back on the Short Line bus for upstate.”

  Phil scratched his nappy head in wonderment. “The whisper stream was real when they said you was the best. Damn man, don’t go no where, I got to take you to see something when I get back.”

  I wanted to leave, but out of recreation, I waited to see what Phill had in store.

  From where I stood I could gratefully see the kid named Billy leave and head towards the bus terminal. Phil came back across the street, reached into the garbage can for his cash, and then said, “Come on.”

  He instantly stopped a yellow cab. I looked at the way Phill was dressed and thought it strange how I was always well dressed, but a cab never stopped for me. But there I was, with a tracksuit and baseball cap wearing clown with a cigar in his mouth, and the cab stopped for him. My mother always said that God looked out for the babies and the fools.

  “Check it, baby; Phil got bills, baby, and I’m trying to make a mill. These little shorts I’m taking from these pilgrims ain’t making it, so I want you to see something fo’ yourself, baby.”

  The taxi stopped at 47th Street on Tenth Avenue at Hells Kitchen. When we stepped out of the taxi, Phil pointed to a little park. “Just watch, just watch.”

  With my back against the stones of an expensive high rise, I looked diagonally across the four lanes of Tenth Avenue. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I took in the environment of poor tenement buildings on one side of the street, and rich condominiums on the other. My eyes stopped at a small gated park.

  The park had two handball walls, a few benches, and a jungle gym for the tough children that played there. Hell’s Kitchen was the ghetto in the middle of the metropolis. I stood there looking until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Phil, what do you have me looking for? All I see is a bunch of dope-fiends copping drugs.”

  He took his hat off and slapped it against his knee like he discovered something. He turned in front of me and crouched down. “That’s right. That’s right. I knew you was smart.”

  “Okay, so now what?” I asked, wondering why he brought me down there.

  “Now what? Dem kids is only open for three hours. They hustling backwards. After all a dem fiends cop, they gonna come back, and you know what Johnny?”

  “No, tell me.”

  Phill imitated customers walking in circles. “There ain’t gone be no diesel out. So all night they running around all sick and shit, taking trains to go cop uptown when they could be getting it right here from me. I know I could make about twenty gees in one week if I got a good connect, and a good partner.”

  “So I guess this is where I come in?”

  His horse teeth appeared with his laugh. “For-real fo’real. You the man. You the man, baby.”

  “So, what you want from me? I don’t sell drugs, man.”

  “Nah, baby. All we gotta do is put up five gees right? Then we find a place to cop from right? Then I put the work out with my little shorties, right? And we paid in one day, just like that. For-real fo’real.”

  I didn’t know when Phil was going to come in handy in the future. It was best to treat all hustlers with respect, but I was about to try and hustle a hustler just to see if it would work. I looked at him like a coach with a player right before the game, and I laid it down.

  “Alright, I got you Phil. This is what we gonna do, baby. You the man with the plan. You know it’s gonna work?”

  “You damn right, baby.”

  “Okay, since you so sure and you want to show me that this ain’t no short con you running on a vet, what you have to do is take the money in the paper bag that I made for you earlier, right? Then you match it with another twenty five hundred that’s in that fat stash you got. You gonna put up my half for me, just so I can see that your plan is gonna work. Then when you make the big money, you take my cut out. Then you put it back in your stash, and we will still be partners from the money we made ‘cause you proved your plan worked and you the man.”

  His eyes were lost in his head. When they popped open, he asked, “Word? Say word? Damn, baby. I knew you was smart. But where I’m gone get the diesel from?”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. In an honest effort to make a hustler some money, I said, “You gonna jump in a cab and take it to 170th Street on College Avenue in the Bronx. Ask for Money, and he can help you get what you need.”

  “Say word? Word? Say word?” Phil asked with enthusiasm as if I just told him the cure for cancer.

  I looked him right in the eye and said, “Word.”

  Phil put his hat to the back. “Yo, I’m gone come see you after the first flip.” He then walked into the street and yelled, “Taxi.” Just his luck, the cab stopped again on his first try.

  $$$

  I called it a night
after I walked back from being with Phil. I was proud that I made a quick $2,500 towards the pot I was getting together for the girls. I also missed their company, so I hung out with them until it was time for bed.

  The next morning there was a loud knock at my door. I jumped up annoyed, wondering who would be knocking on my door like that. When I opened the door, it was Marcy and Elexus. Marcy handed me a new suit with a pair of shiny Italian shoes.

  “Let’s go, honey. You got some more schooling to do,” Marcy ordered.

  My hair was lopsided, cold was in my eyes, and the words that came out of their mouths were not understood.

  “Well? Just don’t stand there, just get dressed because Yoda said to take you with us today,” came from Elexus, whom I bonded with after saving Yoda’s life.

  After clearing the cobwebs in my head, I showered, shaved, and dressed in a new Gorgio Armani suit and tie. I stepped out feeling like a million bucks. My Oris said 8:45.

  It was a strange sight for me to be walking down the street with Marcy and Elexus. Marcy’s breasts, ass implants, and long box-braids looked better than most women’s did. With his smooth face, tight jeans, and exposed cleavage, a lot of men tried to get his attention when we walked down the street.

  Elexus on the other hand wore a wavy, faded, haircut like any other man would, but the cosmetics he wore made him look more like a masculine woman. He always wore the best clothes money could buy, and he received compliments everywhere he went.

  Most men would have had a problem walking down the street with those two, but if expensive clothes were what you wanted, no one in New York City could steal it better than they would. As for me feeling uncomfortable? It was strictly business for me.

  “So where we going?” I asked, after sitting and having a quick breakfast with the two.

  Marcy said, “Yoda said you couldn’t be a sure ‘nuff hustler if you didn’t know nothing about the check-card and boosting game. He ordered us to show you the ropes for the day. All you got to do for us is one pocket sting from a real good vic who’s gonna be gone all day long.”

  “We can pick a petty ass lame vic just to show you the ropes, but if we gone work it, we gone work it, so if you ready, let’s go,” Elexus added in.

  We stepped out of the diner on Eighth Avenue and jumped into a yellow cab.

  “Kennedy Airport…and step on it,” Marcy told the driver.

  I was confused as hell when he told the driver our destination, but I knew a hustler didn’t discriminate. The opportunity to get paid was everywhere.

  PIA was the airlines we headed to. When we arrived at the ticket counter I was lost. I saw a bunch of Arabs standing around. How that was going to work into a hustle I had no idea, but it wasn’t too long before I would find out.

  Elexus pulled me to the side. “Okay, Johnny, when you see me stop a man for the time, that means I know he holding a lot of cash. We want you to do a pocket sting and lift his wallet. Nine out of ten, he gone act all cute and have a titty fit, so you got to bump and pull real fast like.”

  Marcy added in, “But you have to get it right when they boarding, before they hit the ramp for the plane. I got this boy that works at the metal detector, so you have to walk right behind us. Come on, and let’s work.”

  They moved, and I followed. As we walked past the lax security, heading down a long ramp to the metal detectors, Marcy walked up ahead and flirted with the security man. It was obvious the two had been intimate.

  With the approval of security, Elexus and I walked to the boarding gate. Once we were on the other side, we went our separate ways. After a stewardess announced for first class ticket holders to board the plane, Elexus stopped an Arab man. He had MCM carry-on luggage, two tennis rackets, and a diamond-encrusted watch that almost blinded me with its shine. I made my move to go in for his right back pocket, but things didn’t go according to plan.

  Instead of the man telling the homosexual to get out of his face, he asked Elexus for his number. I was surprised, but I didn’t allow the actions to compromise what I had to do. While Elexus touched all over the man’s arms, I went in for the kill. I bumped him, lifted his wallet, and while apologizing, I put his fat wallet into my pocket.

  Once the lift was done, I headed back towards the metal detectors to leave the airport. Marcy was right on my tail. When we all met up outside with the Red Caps, a yellow cab was flagged, and we were on the way back to the city.

  “Hand that over, and keep the cash,” Marcy told me.

  Inside the wallet were six credit cards, a checkbook, an ATM card, a driver’s license, miscellaneous ID’s and $1,600 in cash. Marcy spit a razor blade out of his mouth and meticulously separated the photo from the driver’s license. He then slipped in an identical size photo of Elexus and removed the top plastic from the license.

  “Alright so ask your questions Johnny, ‘cause I know you got some.” Elexus stated.

  “Why the hell we had to come way out to the airport just to lift a wallet? The double security don’t make much sense, and it seems like you slipping just to go way out there.”

  “Girl, you better read him and break it down to the simplest compound,” Marcy said.

  “Well Mr. Hustle, the reason we picked the airport is ‘cause we know if you ride first class, you have some dough. The other reason is that by the time that vic reaches Pakistan in fourteen hours, we done spent all of his cash before she even thinks about reporting the cards missing, smarty pants.”

  I don’t know how to describe the feeling of being put in your place by a queer, but I was quiet for the rest of the ride.

  $$$

  The cab stopped on the Deuce. We went inside of a Photo ID shop where Elexus took the driver’s license to be laminated. The way they worked it was, if the vic was a man, then Elexus would remove his make-up and pass as the cardholder. If it were a woman’s name on the card, then Marcy would take it from there.

  The first stop was the ATM machine, and I’m sure those two are probably the reason bank machines have cameras in them today. Back in 1989 the bankcard was fairly new. If you maxed out the card on one machine, and then walked across the street to the next machine, you were paid. And that’s exactly what they did.

  After milking the ATM, we took a cab to 34th Street at Penn Station. A short African man stood near an island of telephone booths. Him and his partner controlled all ten phones and only allowed his customers to use them. Marcy handed him a Visa card, and the man handed over $300. He immediately began selling overseas phone calls for a small fee to the swarm of immigrant taxi drivers that were lined up at the phones.

  With another hustle on my resume, Marcy and Elexus walked me over to the Amtrak station for a listing of the trains that were leaving the following day. From there, they walked over to an automated ticket machine. Once they submitted a credit card, the machine gave them as many tickets they could buy until the card reached a limit. For an hour, the two queers milked the machine for tickets going to the most common trips across the country. After the stacks of tickets were compiled, they handed the stack to a short Black man, who then handed over $600. His hustle was selling the tickets to travelers at a reduced price.

  I had no idea that so much could be done with credit cards at the time, but the pair wasn’t finished yet.

  Right upstairs from Penn Station was Madison Square Garden. With another credit card, the two purchased random tickets for the upcoming hockey season and then dumped them off for a few hundred to a scalper. Before the day was done, Marcy and Elexus purchased a list of things for the Jews in the Diamond District, and then finally went into stores where they had agreements with the owners to use up the rest of the credit cards. Since the credit card companies insured the owners of the stores, they didn’t care what the pair of queers bought.

  We later went into Macys Department store. When we walked in, the two queers pulled me behind a mannequin and showed me the spandex girdles under their clothes. They walked over to the Polo section, folded expensive
clothes into neat stacks, and then stuffed them into their shop lifting camouflage. The extra tight spandex shorts pressed the stolen garments against their bodies, preventing a bulge.

  Hitting the men’s section for me, they got me a full wardrobe and threw in two extra suits for the male cashier who cleared the personal check that he knew did not belong to Elexus.

  Altogether, the pair walked away with $7,000. I walked away with $2,000, a new wardrobe, and a few new hustles added to my resume.

  $$$

  When I exited the elevator in the Carter, I heard Mimi crying. Keiki was screaming, “I hate you,” before she slammed the room door.

  Kimmy stood in the hall yelling, “You ain’t shit you fucking little bitch! You hear me, hoe? Just like your Mama! You ain’t never gone be shit. Talking about you trying to read. Bitch, you better learn how to feed yourself when your little legs open. The next time you come out of there I’m gonna kick your little ass again, you hear me?”

  It was the first time I saw Kimmy sober. When she saw me standing there, she tried her best at being seductive. She lifted her bruised arm to the side of the doorframe, and stuck her famished hip out to the side.

  “Hey, handsome? You having fun taking care of my kids? You look too fine to be a kiddy freak, but whatever floats your boat, let it float. I just hope that little bitch in there is giving you your money’s worth, cause I ain’t seen a dime.”

  She rubbed her ashy hands all over her body when she said, “I’m sick. I need a hit. What you say I don’t call the cops on you and you give me twenty-five dollars? Our little secret?”

  Again, the devil whispered in my ear. I wanted to put the woman out of her misery. In an effort to quiet her down and rid the girls from problems, I handed over the money. She shot by me heading for Hells Kitchen so she could buy her drugs.