One Hustle

by Cortney Gee

  "Boy fuck you, these is my babies," she said before planting kisses on the twins.

  "I love your crazy ass." Karen walked by me and headed out the door.

  I couldn't wait for her shift at work to end. I figured if some groceries had earned me some morning head, when she found that two hundred dollars, it was going to be on and cracking when she returned home.

  If I had learned anything from dealing with Lance it was punctuality. So, I made sure to get the twins over to the babysitters with enough time left over to beat him to my crib.

  When I pulled up with seven minutes to spare, I was shocked, my boy was already parked out front.

  "Damn, Lance, when you said ten you weren’t bullshitting," I said, trying to lighten his mood in case my arrival after him had Lance irritated.

  "Time is money, my brother and if you want to get real bread, being on time ain't good enough," he scolded as he pointed at his Rolex.

  In an effort to not press the situation, I took my lumps like a man and inquired if he wanted me to follow him in my car or roll with him in the Porsche.

  Lance's arrogant ass looked at my Datsun and said, "We're about to meet up with some folks. Ride with me."

  "I know you aren't clowning my Japanese Classic," I said, defending my well-preserved automobile.

  "Man, I'm not cracking on your whip. I'm just saying an upgrade wouldn't be a bad thing."

  Just because he had loaned me two grand, it didn't give him the right to clown my circumstances.

  Instead of firing off on him, I agreed with him; if and when I hit a lick, I would purchase an automobile that spoke of my finances the way my 1973 240z screamed I was broke.

  We pulled off and headed south on Sepulveda and veered onto the 405 S while the sounds of Trouble Funk played over the speakers.

  "Do you ever listen to any other music besides Go-Go?" I asked the D.C. native, knowing it would push a button. Fuck it, I thought. It served him right that he got a taste of his own medicine.

  "Nope. Not if I can help it."

  "But it all sounds the same. I mean, there are different words, but the bongos, cymbals, and drums are identical in every song."

  Lance was livid.

  "Cameron, you come from a place where there is no indigenous sound. I mean there's the Motown sound, the Philly sound, hell even Memphis has Stax. What would be the Cleveland sound?"

  I could have let him win the debate, but just for argument sake I pushed on.

  "We have soul on lock, The O'Jays, Bobby Womack, Levert, The Rude Boys. The only Go-Go performer in that class is Chuck Brown."

  "You keep disrespecting my music and I'm going to make you get out," he joked as he turned the music down. Then, he said, "Look blood, when I introduce you to my people, just listen. Chill out, ya dig?"

  I agreed to be quiet and follow his lead.

  "This is your show, my brother, I'm not trying to be ringmaster, I'm just part of the circus," I said, assuring him I would stay in line.

  We exited the 405 at La Cienega and made our way to Denny's by the airport. Lance parked next to a black 740il with tinted windows. He instructed me to give him a minute as he exited the Porsche and walked over to the driver's side of the BMW. The window came down just enough for me to see the driver was a woman wearing sunglasses.

  Lance and the woman seemed to exchange pleasantries, then I witnessed the lady pass Lance an envelope, roll up her window and vamp out.

  Lance waved for me to join him as he headed into Denny's, making sure he locked the doors by remote once he was sure I had exited the vehicle.

  We headed toward the rear of the restaurant and sat in a booth occupied by a mature gentleman I suspected was in his late 40's. He had a light brown complexion with freshly cut hair and a hairline that showed evidence of recession. If this wasn't enough to believe my estimation was correct, the salt and pepper sprinkled in his goatee confirmed it. He stood up and Lance introduced us.

  "Moe, this is Cameron, Cameron this is Moe."

  The first thing I noticed was this cat had what my father said every good businessman owned, a firm handshake.

  "Greetings, Cameron, pleased to meet you," he said to me.

  I told him it was my pleasure. Then he slid his 5'8" portly body back into the booth. Lance sat down and slid by the window offering me to sit next to him. I suppose he did that so Moe could look at both of us straight in our eyes.

  Looking into Moe's eyes was quite a frightening task. I had never witnessed any human with such lifeless orbs, it was as if he owned no soul at all.

  He looked at me in a predatory manner, not in judgment of me, but more like I had been served up as the Last Supper.

  I reminded myself that Lance didn't want me to say much, but to observe the deal.

  "So did you get the package?" Moe asked Lance.

  "Yes, Sarafina came through as she always does." Lance handed Moe the envelope to inspect.

  Moe nodded.

  Our waitress came over and asked us if we would be ordering as she freshened up Moe's cup of coffee.

  Lance ordered a vegetarian omelet, toast and orange juice. I ordered a grand slam and a coffee.

  Moe told her that he wasn't hungry and she whisked off to the kitchen.

  "So, you trust your man will play ball fairly?" Moe asked Lance.

  "Oh this young brother's solid," Lance replied, patting me on the back. "Cameron understands not to bite the hand that feeds him."

  I was becoming wary of them talking about me like I wasn't there instead of talking to me.

  I was glad to see the waitress return with water and coffee and Lance's orange juice. It gave me something to do, seeing I wasn't invited in on the conversation the two had going.

  I put two Sweet and Lows in my coffee and began to stir when Moe looked at me and said, "You know that kills laboratory rats."

  I smiled. "I read a report that the laboratory workers aren't keeling over from putting it in their coffee so until that happens, I'll keep enjoying it."

  There was a pause at the table for minute. I thought that my smart mouth just fucked up whatever deal Lance and Moe had in mind for me. Then Moe erupted into laughter.

  "You're right about this youngster. He's quick on his feet and doesn't mind being an asshole toward authority."

  I was relieved that my loose lips hadn't offended him.

  "So Cameron, is it agreed that we share equally in this transaction?" Moe questioned me.

  Without even knowing what was in store, my thirsty ass agreed and shook his hand again.

  His handshake was as firm as it was when we first were introduced. He pulled out a fifty- dollar bill and excused himself from the table.

  "It was good doing business with you, see you on Monday," Moe said before leaving.

  Lance and I bid him farewell and he dipped. I was intrigued to see what kind of car Moe would be getting into. From the window I watched him climb inside a candy apple red Mercedes 500 SEL and told myself it was indeed time for me to step up my whip game.

  Our food arrived and Lance clowned me about eating pork.

  "Man, you half Muslim motherfuckers kill me hating on the pig. You do know it's the other white meat," I told him.

  "It's a filthy animal and the Bible and Koran states that it is not to be consumed," Lance replied.

  "So right now you're eating what would have grown into a chicken?" I asked.

  "Yeah and what genius enlightenment do you have to share about my breakfast?" Lance questioned as he put another portion of the omelet in his mouth.

  "I'm just saying. Obviously, you've never been on a farm because a chicken is about one of the nastiest animals on the yard, flat out."

  "Cameron, you're trying to convince me that the chicken is nastier than a pig? I'm not buying it."

  "What I'm trying to say is I think pigs just have bad public relations, plus this bacon tastes too good to be bad."

  That was just how Lance and I got down.

  We challenged each oth
er over some of the dumbest shit just to see what lunacy the other would spout out of his mouth. It was like we were exercising our quick wit at the other's expense.

  Once we finished our breakfast, Lance finally gave me a hint about what was in the envelope. It was just in time too, because curiosity was gnawing at me.

  He pulled out a contract that was addressed to my DBA BDatzFunny Entertainment and me.

  It stated that a Christopher Swenson had funded a comedy tour featuring comedians of my choice and myself with an investment amount of ninety-two thousand dollars.

  "Ninety-two stacks of cheese? We need to start getting our lineup together, lock down some venues and coordinate travel schedules!"

  Lance sat there with a look so unfazed on his face like our careers hadn't just been boosted.

  "Man, we ain't going on no fucking tour," he said, confusing the shit outta me.

  "But you just showed me the contract."

  "And I'm showing you this." He pulled a check out making sure not to put his fingerprints on it, handling the check with his knuckles.

  I found that to be strange.

  "If you act right, like I know you will, this is the first of many," he continued.

  Receiving almost-hundred grand checks was more than enough incentive to be on my best behavior.

  "So what's next?" I questioned.

  Lance informed me that we were going to just deposit the check into my account and on Monday I was going to write a check to Chris Swenson, divide up the take, and get ready to do it all over again.

  It sounded simple enough.

  My Cleveland instinct told me that getting $92,000 had to come with a catch and I should pull out, but I was already two stacks indebted to him.

  Our waitress, Anna, came back to the table to see if we needed anything else. I said some sly shit to amuse her even though I knew I was flirting with disaster. If Karen had any knowledge of me sampling this hot tamale, all bets would be off. She gave us a check and I slipped her the $50 bill Moe had left and told her to keep the change. She was more than pleased with the $30 tip. So thankful, she wrote down her number and told me to buzz her.

  Lance and I left Denny's with the future fortune in the form of a promissory note.

  We hit the 405 northbound, focused on putting the check in my account at the Van Nuys branch of Bank of America.

  I had a lot of questions but Lance was short on answers.

  He told me the less I knew, the better off I was if anything went wrong.

  "Make sure you keep this contract with you at all times. Make a copy and leave it in your car. Do you feel me?"

  "I got you, Lance. Like I said, it's your game. I'm going to play this like you guide me, brother," I said, again assuring him that I understood.

  We arrived at the bank, I deposited a check, and that was it.

  No alarms went off, nobody asked me any questions and I wasn't detained. The challenge for me was that the check wouldn't clear until Monday.

  Now I understood why Moe was looking to see me on Monday, that was to be our payday.

  "Yo Lance, who is Saban Entertainment?" I asked when we got back in the car because when I saw that name on the check I thought it sounded familiar.

  "Do your boys watch the Power Rangers?"

  "Of course they do. They were pissed they both couldn't be the red Ranger for Halloween."

  "Well, that's the company that the check was issued from," Lance said as he continued to inform me that the woman in the BMW was the comptroller of the financial department and that we would be issued payments from a vendor account that she had been instructed to purge so they didn't have to pay taxes on.

  "It's amazing how quickly leftover change can turn into millions of dollars, my brother."

  Lance pulled in front of my apartment and dropped me off.

  "Remember don't do anything with your account, be cool and don't draw any attention to it."

  "I got it, coach. Hey let me use your horn real quick. I need to call Speedy for a spot. You going to The Comedy Act Theatre tonight?"

  "Yeah, I'm going to be a little or a lot late. It's all depending on how my valley girl is acting. You know you really need to get your own phone, bruh." He scolded me before letting me use it.

  After securing the both of us slots on the show, I gave Lance his phone back and he jetted off to be with his new boo.

  After a full day of hanging out and hustling with Lance, I headed upstairs to the apartment. Before entering, I made sure to toss the piece of paper containing Anna's number. Karen had a second sense that was borderline supernatural when it came to finding incriminating evidence against me concerning other women.

  Luckily, she wasn't as tech savvy as me. My electronic Rolodex was safe. I would program female information as male names and Anna had become Dan Nee.

  That sounded like an Asian guy, but my memory served me well enough to keep track of my lies.

  When I opened up the door to my apartment, I was greeted by the joyful sounds of my twins playing in front of the television and the soulful aroma of macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and fried chicken that Karen was laboring over in the kitchen. It was moments like these when I felt shameful for my extracurricular activities.

  When things were good between Karen and me, they were good. Unfortunately, when it was bad, I was looking to one up her.

  I mean sure, Karen was fine and she was southernly schooled in domestication. But we were in LA. La La Land was a place littered with the baddest broads from every city all over the world and someone had convinced them they should all be in pictures. It was too easy for a man like myself, blessed with a silver tongue, to down one of those would-be starlets. I couldn't help but sample the offerings from time to time.

  Karen was still in her work outfit as she prepared our meal. Normally that would have pissed me off. I mean really, you work at a hospital with people sick from God knows what and just because you wash your hands, you think it's cool to be over my food? Like disease is allergic to clothing material.

  But today I was satisfied with the possibilities of bettering our lives and decided not to start an argument.

  "Hey baby, it sure smells good up here," I told her as I walked toward her.

  "Cameron, if I knew you put that money in my purse, I would've let you get a taste this morning," she said in a hushed tone so the twins didn't hear what a freak their mama was.

  "There's always tonight. You can show me how much you appreciate a brother." I nibbled at her ear.

  Malcolm and Martin ran over to us; I don't know if they were just happy to see me or if they were cock blocking. As they came between the two of us, I concluded it was probably a mixture of both.

  Our kitchen wasn't big enough for an entire family gathering, so Karen ushered us all out of there so she could finish cooking.

  My sons dragged me to join them in the living room; now without a shadow of doubt, I knew they had been cock blocking. They were jumping on and off of the couch doing high kicks, imitating the characters on the TV show. I asked the boys what had them so excited.

  "Power Rangers!" they exclaimed, still jumping and doing karate moves.

  "Oh, so you like the Power Rangers, huh?"

  "No, we love the Power Rangers!"

  I thought about the twenty-three thousand I had coming on Monday and I joined in their delight.

  "Daddy loves the Power Rangers, too!"

  CHAPTER THREE

  The weekend breezed by. Karen and I had a blast as we dined at Gladstone’s. The lobster dinner had her even more thankful than the two hundred bucks I had laid on her. Thank God for Lulu, who kept the twins overnight so that we could attend to some grown folks’ business. Over the weekend, I even had a chance to see Anna again, but this time it wasn't her serving me breakfast at Denny's. It was an early dinner at her place Sunday before I headed over to the Laugh Factory.

  Lance and I were meeting there. He wasn't performing, but I had a nine o'clock slot and it was an oppor
tune rendezvous spot.

  Afterward, we cruised over to Jerry's Deli and hung out there with him laying down his instructions that I would be following tomorrow morning.

  *****

  It was 10 AM and I was suited and booted, more than ready for Lance's prompt ass. I had been told to look business casual for the day's work. I put on a single-breasted navy blue suit with wide leg trousers, a crisp white French cuffed shirt and some blue David Eden alligator loafers.

  If there were a business I was representing by my attire, it would have been pimping.

  I figured if I was about to take down twenty-three racks, I should look like the thousandnaire I was about to become.

  Lance was already downstairs waiting when I walked toward the door. I thought to myself that he must set his watch ten minutes fast or something.

  When I got into the car, I wasn't about to be berated.

  "Fuck you, I was on time and I look good," I said to shut down any bullshit he might gripe about.

  "And good morning to you too, motherfucker. You ready to get it in?"

  "Whose car is this?" I asked him as I stepped into the Burgundy 300 Mercedes-Benz.

  "Oh this is my valley girl, Gwen’s whip. She took my Porsche today so that we could have some extra room."

  "Hell yeah, I'm ready. I'm dressed for success and excess, brother, let's go."

  We pulled off and instead of turning left for my bank, we turned right and headed toward Sherman Oaks.

  "Yo, the bank is the other way," I instructed him.

  "I know; we have to pick up the most important piece in today's play."

  "And that would be?"

  "Not what, but whom. A white guy to get the money! Did you actually think Bank of America was going to give ninety-two thousand to some niggas? I don't care how well dressed and articulate we are; we would have to give a fecal specimen to withdraw five hundred dollars."

  It was a sad indictment on the racism that still existed where folk's trusted white people to fleece them but wouldn't trust a brother.

  We pulled into an apartment complex that was an obvious black eye on the affluent area. Where the surrounding properties were well maintained and manicured, the apartment was in desperate need of a paint job and its shrubbery was overgrown.