One Hustle

by Cortney Gee

  Lance grabbed a pair of shoes and a garment bag and I followed him upstairs.

  “Why are you carrying a change of clothes? You look more than dressed for the task at hand?” I asked.

  "I'm going to prove to you that you can clean a white boy up and watch the world open up before him."

  Lance knocked on apartment 206 and an unkempt young white chick answered.

  "Hey, Lance," she said, scratching her arm like she was in need of a fix.

  "What's happening, Amanda, this is Cameron. Cameron this is Amanda. She's Chris's better half." I lied, telling her that the pleasure was all mine. I couldn't help but think how fucked up Chris must be if this bitch was his better half.

  "Amanda, if I didn't know better I would think Chris was black; he's always on colored people's time," Lance said loud enough for Chris to hear.

  It worked because Chris came out of the bedroom.

  He was blonde, about 5'7, medium build and clean-shaven, but there was a frailty about him I couldn't put my finger on.

  Lance was right: the raggedy blue jeans and a polo shirt with a hole in it made Amanda look almost pleasant.

  "You have everything together?" Chris asked like it was important that Lance hadn't forgotten anything.

  "Yep, everything is there. Now please handle your business so that we can handle mine," Lance pleaded.

  Now I understood why Lance had brought his girl, Gwen's car; Chris was rolling with us.

  By the time we left with Chris, it was close to 11 AM and the smog had burned away in the Valley. The heat index was climbing into the mid-nineties already.

  Lance had the air-conditioning turned on high as we drove to the bank. Chris complained about being cold and had a bad cough to prove he wasn't bullshitting.

  "Have you been taking meds like the doctor told you to?" Lance questioned.

  "Yeah, but the AZT is hella-expensive," Chris replied.

  "Man, you're getting paid today. I'm taking you to the pharmacy myself, don't play with your condition."

  Now I was no dummy and I knew that not one doctor had ever prescribed AZT to fight the flu. I was pissed off and frightened when I realized that Lance had me in a car, with rolled up windows, with a motherfucker with the skinnies.

  I quickly let my window down and chanted the Buddhist Nom Yo Re Keyo.

  Chris couldn't exit the car quick enough so I could confront Lance's stupid ass. We pulled into the parking lot and Lance gave Chris some last-minute instructions.

  "You know the drill, Chris, take the briefcase. There's a check written out to you. Get the loot, be cool and meet us back here," he said.

  It was obvious Chris had worked with Lance numerous times before.

  Chris nodded his head and exited the car.

  As soon as I saw Chris walk into the bank, I let Lance have it. "Are you fucking kidding me? You got me in a car with an AIDS riddled motherfucker, coughing and shit with the windows rolled up?" I asked angrily.

  "Unless you plan on fucking or tongue kissing Chris, I don't think you have shit to worry about!"

  He sounded like Karen when I tripped about her work clothes. My fear was probably based on ignorance, but that didn't make me happy.

  My dark mood was brightened though with the sight of Chris walking back to the car with a smile spread across his face.

  "We good to go?" Lance asked Chris.

  He confirmed all was well and we took off.

  Instinctively, I looked in the rearview mirror to see if we were being followed. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, which was in total contrast to the other occupants of the Mercedes. It was just another day at the office for Lance and Chris.

  "Are you guys hungry? I'm starving. My treat," Lance said, breaking the silence in the car.

  Chris and I both agreed that a meal provided by the man who made the most money today was right on time. He suggested we dine at PF Chang's at the Sherman Oaks Galleria.

  Chris and I agreed with his choice of Chinese. I had been meaning to try what I had been told was some high-end Asian dining, but my money had been funny.

  Lance parked the car, took the briefcase from Chris, then we entered the restaurant.

  "Will you gentlemen be needing a booth or table?" asked the attractive tanned brunette who served as the hostess.

  Lance took the lead since he was treating and let her know we would need a booth.

  "We'll take that one if you don't mind," he said, pointing to a booth that was situated away from the other patrons.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, that section is closed."

  Lance pulled out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill and asked her if that would be enough to reopen the section.

  Her eyes widened and a bright smile stretched across her face.

  "I'm sure we can accommodate you gentlemen. By all means please take a seat. Your waitress, Cindy will be right over."

  We sat down at our well-paid for private office.

  Lance sat across from Chris and me.

  As we were promised, Cindy, a young blonde who had no sexual appeal but owned a great personality, came by. She gave us menus and took our drink order.

  Once she left us alone, Lance asked, "So gentlemen, would you like to settle up now or would you rather do business on a full stomach?"

  I found no reason to delay getting my cheese, but if Chris had decided to wait I wasn't going to be the one who looked thirsty.

  "I believe my meal would be even more pleasant with my share in my pocket," Chris said.

  I agreed with him and told Lance to break bread.

  He put the briefcase on the table and counted out five stacks, placed it in the envelope and handed it to Chris.

  "Yep, it's all there; thanks, Lance," Chris said after concluding that Lance had done right by him.

  I was thrown off by the small amount that Chris had been paid. But if he counted it and it had been no problems, I had no right to make mention of it.

  Per Lance's instructions, I brought along my briefcase, an envelope wouldn't have accommodated the amount of money that I was to receive.

  "Cameron, my good man, if you would please open up your briefcase I believe I might be able to make a deposit," Lance said, counting twenty-one stacks of cash out.

  I frowned. "If I'm not mistaken, I was owed twenty-three, playa."

  "Man, you obviously forgot the little advance I gave," he said with a cool tone, but sternly enough to let me know that before I accused him of messing over me I better have my thoughts together.

  "Damn, brother, I didn't mean to. Forgive me, my bad," I apologized, making a mental note to really make sure he realized I had a brain fart and meant no harm.

  I set my briefcase on the floor and took a sip of my water. I had to admit I was feeling a certain kind of way about Lance clearing sixty-six thousand bucks and I had twenty-one with me being the person whose name was on the bank account.

  Cindy returned with all of our drinks and we ordered our food. Lance had MISO CHICKEN, savory miso-tamarind sauce wok-tossed with sliced chicken breast, baby carrots, Asian mushrooms, bok choy, candied walnuts and corn, topped with fresh cilantro. Chris ordered SHRIMP WITH LOBSTER SAUCE, garlic white wine sauce with Chinese black beans, mushrooms, scallions and egg. And I had the MOO GOO GAI PAN, sliced chicken breast and tender shrimp served with mushrooms and sliced vegetables in a mild sauce. The food was delicious and I had to admit, I had plans on returning with Karen in tow. The way they served it, we were able to share each other's entrées.

  After we finished, Lance paid the tab and gave Cindy a generous tip.

  She responded by slipping him her number.

  "Honestly, Lance, if you were going to pursue anyone after tipping them, it should have been that hostess, she was fine," I told him as he exited the restaurant.

  "You think that way because you're engaged in a relationship and you have to cheat vertically. You have to literally fuck up. I, on the other hand, am single. I don't care if I fuck up or down. I h
ave the room to fuck around, so to speak," Lance replied, educating me to his train of thought.

  Chris was howling at Lance’s soliloquy.

  "I don't know what you're laughing for, our next stop is Rite Aid. You're going to get all your prescriptions and not waste five gee's self-medicating, ya dig?" Lance scolded Chris as if he were a child.

  Chris stopped laughing and got in the back seat of the Mercedes, upset that Lance had fronted him about his addiction.

  In an effort to keep things light, I inquired about when we might be able to work another check.

  "After I drop off Sarafina's and Moe's loot. I'm sure we'll be back in business again this week," he replied.

  We left PF Chang's and went to the Rite Aid in North Hollywood then, dropped off Chris at his apartment. Whatever it cost him to purchase the medicine must have put a dent in his take. He was upset that Lance had forced him to buy medicine instead of shooting the cash into Amanda's and his arms.

  It was at this time that I realized why there was no cure for the diseases that plagued our society like cancer, AIDS and diabetes. It was way too much money to be made in the medicating and not enough to be made in eradicating the disease.

  Chris mumbled, "Thanks," and said he would see us soon, then headed upstairs to what I was sure was an anxious girlfriend.

  "So what you have planned for the rest of the day, Cam?" Lance asked me.

  "Well, I can tell you what I won't be doing."

  "And what might that be?"

  "I won't be putting this back in the bank, that's for damn sure," I quipped.

  "I know that's right!"

  "I figured I'd do a couple nice things for the family, like find a spot where the boys can have their own room. I’m going to buy Karen a new wardrobe and put away some of it so that I can upgrade my wheels. Fucking with Moe, Sarafina and you has convinced me that that's in order."

  "What do you have in mind as far as whips are concerned?" he asked me.

  "Did you play that's my car when you were younger?"

  "Of course I did. Every kid from the hood played that growing up."

  "And what car was your car?"

  "The one I own, a Porsche, but not the 944 -- the 911 Carrera. I didn't get exactly my car, but I got pretty damn close."

  "I feel you; my car was the convertible Jaguar. There was a Cleveland Cavalier who spoke at my school when I was a junior. When he pulled up in that automobile it was my fantasy from then on."

  "Oh, so it's British luxury you prefer. I never figured you as a secret agent double oh seven type. With your Midwest upbringing I guess I envisioned you going out and splurging on a caddy, but everybody has a right to like what they like."

  I realized right then and there that I hadn't shared that much about my true nature with my comedic friend and now partner in crime.

  James Bond, John Shaft and James T. Kirk raised me. They were the same cat just in different circumstances. They had nice rides, were smooth as hell and got all the women. Hell, Kirk even fucked the green bitches.

  "I mean, I don't need a new one but I'm definitely going to be on the lookout for a well-maintained, pre-owned one."

  "Say no more, my brother, I got you. Tomorrow have about seven geez with you. I want to turn you onto something real slick."

  "Shit, we don't have to wait until tomorrow, I'm down to do that right now."

  "I know that money is burning a hole in your pocket, but right now I need to take care of people so they continue to bless us with the work, you feel me?"

  I knew Lance was right. But him telling me I was so near to getting my car had me happier than a sissy with a bag of dicks.

  Lance drove me to my crib and before letting me out, he reminded me to keep a copy of the contract in my automobile and home. Plus, he suggested I buy a safe, one that was fireproof.

  I jumped into my Z car for what might have been the last time and headed out to handle the task I had already planned, and the ones my criminal mentor had suggested.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Every day was a day for some small lesson to be learned from my cool sensei. It was instilled in me by now that when Lance said 10 o'clock in the morning, I had to be out of my house and downstairs by 9:45 AM.

  "Well, good morning, Mr. Bernard," Lance said as I jumped in his car. "It's nice to see you're ready to do business, my brother."

  "'Sup Lance? Just so I know, what's with you and 10 AM? I mean every time we link up, it's at that exact time."

  Lance explained to me how by 10 o'clock the highways of traffic that locked Los Angeles were normally smooth sailing. By 11:30 AM, 12 o'clock they became jammed with people either rushing to work from lunch or heading out to eat. His explanation made perfect sense to me, especially when you owned a sports car. It seemed like such a waste to own a car that went from 0 to 60 in less than a minute when you were bumper to bumper, taking forty minutes to go three miles.

  We were heading east from my apartment on Victory Boulevard. From what Lance had told me yesterday, I believed we were headed to a car dealership.

  "Just out of curiosity, Cameron, what did you do first with your cash?"

  "I already told you, I wasn't entrusting it to any bank."

  "True dat. That's smart of you because if they suspected anything, they would have frozen your account."

  "I bought a safe, then gave Karen two thousand for a new apartment and another two thousand to get her and the boys whatever they needed."

  "That's good, elevating your game, blessing the folks you love and making sure that your take was secure. Yo, did you tell Karen how you came about that kind of cash?"

  "First of all, I didn't tell her how much money I had. She's under the impression it was a deposit from a show that I marked on the comedy calendar. I figured that would help if I needed to get with my little enchilada for a few days."

  "So you and Anna are hitting skins, huh?"

  "Yes sir; she's been letting me come over late at night after I do a set at The Comedy Act Theatre. With my passing dough to Karen, she hasn't been grilling me about my whereabouts."

  Lance was happy I was having fun with my Mexican acquaintance and encouraged me to bring her into the fold.

  "I've seen you work verbal magic on women. That could be a great asset to our organization."

  I could see where Lance was coming from, but I was no pickup artist. I just happened to be highly adapted to opening up myself to be chosen. Rarely did I go after a woman that I was attracted to. I waited to see who wanted me and if she was attractive, I didn't get in the way of her pursuit.

  "So you brought the seven racks I told you about yesterday, right?" he asked as we pulled into what looked more like a wrecking yard than a car dealership.

  "Yeah I have it. What are we doing here?" I looked around at cars smashed, parted out, and piled to the sky.

  "Cameron, I swear sometimes I forget just how green your Cleveland ass is. This is Statewide Autos, where you can ball on a budget."

  I clearly was ignorant because I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. "What do you mean ball on a budget?"

  "LA is all about fronting. Before you get a movie or TV deal, folks cop salvage title whips from my man, Albert. It helps to keep people guessing about your social and economic status."

  I was still confused. "Albert? Salvage titles?"

  He then proceeded to school me about the salvage game. Folks would have accidents and the insurance company would declare the cars to be totaled.

  Albert would then thoroughly fix them up and sell them at a reasonable price. If you didn't have all the cash up front, Albert would work with you, too. All you had to do was write him dated checks to cover the payments.

  As we parked, I saw that Statewide Auto was loaded with a plethora of high-end foreign cars on its lot. Range Rovers, Mercedes, BMW's, Audi's, Lexus's, Bentley's, Rolls-Royces and Jaguars were scattered all over the place. Though I was impressed with the varied inventory, my heart was set on a Jaguar with the br
ains blown out.

  We got out of Lance's Porsche and checked out the Jaguars. Of the six Albert had available, there were only two coupes and only one of them was convertible. A 1990 powder blue one with a navy blue top and cream guts.

  As we were looking around, a man in his late 30’s came out to greet us. Immediately, he recognized Lance.

  "Lance, my friend, I see you're still driving the 944. You know we have a nice all-black 911 that just came in," said the Armenian man, who looked more like an Ahmad than an Albert.

  "Let me see how my next week turns out; I might just holla at you about that. What are you asking for it?"

  "Well, if you bring back the 944, I'm willing to take six thousand. But if you decide to keep your car, I'm willing to take ten thousand for it. Either way I'm practically giving away the car. I can get sixteen thousand for it right now, but you bring me so much business I'm forced to do good deal for you."

  Again Lance told Albert he would think about it. Which really meant he wanted to hit another lick. This revelation was good news for me because if Lance was going to be making moves, I would be clocking more dollars as well.

  "Albert, this is my man, Cameron and he fancies that convertible Jaguar." He pointed to the powder blue convertible. "Can you do better than nine thousand?" Lance asked, hoping his discount would be extended to me.

  "So you like?" Albert asked me as I admired the V12 sports luxury automobile.

  I loved the car but I wasn't feeling the high price tag. I had only brought eight grand with me just in case I had to splurge, but nine stacks was out of my range.

  "She's beautiful, can I hear her purr?" I inquired.

  "Give me your license and you can do better than that; you can test drive the car and see if she's a fit."

  I quickly pulled out my license and Albert instructed his office worker to bring me the key. The worker must have been a close relative because the resemblance was remarkable. I took the keys and waited for Albert to accompany me.

  "You are coming with, right?" I asked him.

  Albert told me to take Lance along with me. He was expecting another customer and didn't want his younger brother handling his business.