The Legend of Johnny Hustle: Crown Me King

by Zach Tate

  While handing me a cigar, he continued. “We can use a man like you on the board. For say, around a hundred thou’ you’d have a pretty good plot of shares in this company. As time goes on, you buy more shares. One thing leads to another and you’re on the board.”

  I thought the man was another PeeWee, pulling my chain, so I sipped from my flute, looked him square in the eyes, and asked, “Why me?”

  He returned my glare. “You want the truth, or a good answer?”

  “The truth. Straight up, not shaken or stirred.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll have to use that one. But seriously, you understand that hard work is hard work, either in the streets or in big business. Men like you, especially Black men like you—you guys know the trends. You know what people want and how to give it to them. What’s that term my daughter says? Oh yes, you guys know the flava. With you on the board, these old bags will clear out and the fresh board can make the Marriott name the leading franchise in history. Buy small, then accumulate more stocks, and you’ll be on the board. I guarantee it. Just imagine having your own suite all over the world to call your own?”

  “And how can you guarantee it?” I asked the man who seriously had my attention.

  He cracked a patient smile as if he was talking to a novice. “Because I’m the chairman. You have a wonderful night.” He shook my hand and walked away.

  I was really confused about what a chairman of the board did. As I stood wondering if the man was trying to run a long con on me, Red walked up with a smile on her face. She touched my ear and said, “He was just talking your ear off, huh? What in heavens name do you and Arnold Bond have in common?”

  “You know him?” I asked in shock.

  “Know of him. He’s only the head honcho of the Marriott Group.” She must have seen the confused expression on my face, because she patiently said, “Sugar, he’s the boss of all these hotels all over the world.”

  I couldn’t respond. My mind was stuck, and I was embarrassed. People counting down the sixty seconds to the New Year interrupted my thoughts.

  Roxy and Joy ran over to me. We all hugged and made a large circle. “Happy New Year,” the crowd celebrated. We all kissed.

  When the music of C&C Music Factory started pumping, those White people let it all hang out. The ladies and I did the same. By the third song, Red stopped dancing. She pulled me to the side while Roxy and Joy danced with each other. She put her mouth to my ear. In an effort to yell over the music, she pointed across the room. “There’s your boy, Randolph Christopher, standing over there.”

  I turned my head, saw the kiddy freak, and was sure my hustling skills were refined. My mind started sending impulses that I didn’t know I had. I snapped my fingers at Roxy to get her attention. I then pointed a finger at her and Joy, calling them over. When I looked across the room, several businessmen were approaching Randolph and shaking his hand. I had a plan. When the girls walked over I unleashed it.

  I pulled all three of them to the corner, put my hand around Joy’s waist, and said, “Roxy? You remember how you dug my pockets the first time we met?” She nodded. “Okay Red, you know how to get the inside pockets, and Roxy knows how to get the outside ones. I need the two of you to pull Randolph Christopher away from his friends and dance with him. Roxy do your thing girl, and Red. I need all of his ID.”

  “And whattaya need me to do, Daddy?” came from Joy.

  “I need you to escort me to our room.” I turned to Roxy and Red. “I need you two to make sure this was the best sting you ever did.”

  Red kissed me on the lips, while Roxy neatly tore at the split of her silk dress. Roxy then took off her panties and handed them to me. I turned to leave, and they went to retrieve the information I needed.

  $$$

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” I said to the three women in the suite later that night. I held Randolph Christopher’s wallet in my hand. I turned to Red and said, “Red. Tell us who this man is.”

  With a total air of professionalism, Red stood as if she was giving a presentation at a business meeting. “Randolph Patrick Christopher is a major developer of real estate in New York. His father, Patrick Christopher, was a well-known slumlord in the nineteen seventies. When he burned his buildings down in the Bronx, he came down here with the policy payments and bought up as much of Manhattan as his money allowed. He recently developed a row of houses down by Fletcher Street. Now that dad is dead, junior is at the realm and worth a few hundred million dollars, easy. What I would like to know is, how we are going to steal it all?”

  “We’re not,” I stated while they questioned my sanity. “We got a situation where, living in this suite is getting crowded no matter how much space we have, because you guys have to work. I been thinking about this for awhile. Since you guys want to work, we need a place of our own. You will be off the streets, and can still do your thing. This guy has the property, so I have to find a way to get him to give me what I want.”

  “So what exactly do you want?” Red asked, looking at the ceiling confused.

  “This guy has property, and I want a piece of property. He’s also a kiddy freak, and if I can get him to fall to his own temptation, then I can put him in the position where I can use it to my advantage.” I then looked up at Red and Roxy, and said, “Think.”

  While sitting with her leg leaned over the arm of the chair, and the video camera in her hand, Joy said, “Ah shucks, that’s easy. You get you a small kid, let ‘em flirt, and get Randolph to notice. We use this here video camera and we keep the tape.”

  I was amazed that she could think that far. Even though her idea made the plan I was going to use more concrete, there was still one part missing.

  “So where do I get the kid from? The last time he wanted a little Black boy,” I asked.

  Everyone sat silent in the room while thinking of a way that I could pull the whole thing off. After waiting for someone to speak, Joy said, “I know one.”

  The plan started coming together, so I asked, “Red, where can you find Randolph?”

  While holding Randolph’s wallet in her hand and looking through the cards and receipts, she said, “According to this, he lives in the East Village. He also has a lot of information from the Washington Square Hotel. He buys his furniture at Ligne Roset, and he also eats at the Four Seasons a lot. My old stomping grounds. But that’s odd. Why would he eat in one place and live in another, when he can have all three in one place at the hotel?”

  “‘Cause the bastard do his dirt in one place, politic in one place, and lay his freak trifling ass someplace else,” came from Roxy, her head moving from side-to-side with each word.

  Again the light bulb went off, and I said, “Tomorrow everybody be up for work.”

  $$$

  The following day I had all the women up and exercising. I did the same. Once we were all showered and dressed, I pulled Joy first. “Joy, this photo place called Gruber’s just opened on 57th Street last year. Go up there and see if you can steal a few pictures of a few Black boys eight and younger. Watch out for the police, you know you’re hot. Then come back here because we need you to answer the phone. I want everybody to call here when they find where this guy is.”

  Roxy was anxious and ready to go, so I pointed to her. “You. I want you to go down to Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue where this guy lives.” A scowl came over her face, so I said, “Roxy, do not put your hands on the man. Just follow him and see where he goes, and who he lives with? Red, write all the information in his wallet down. When we find this guy, I need you to return his wallet. Like a reverse jostle, then come back here. Hang out by the Four Seasons. Call here and if Roxy tells you where he’s at, then you do your thing. I’m gonna hang by the hotel. I’ll probably bump into Roxy. I can’t let this chump see my face until it’s too late.”

  Things were moving too smooth for me. We all struck out that day. It was going to be harder than I thought.

  The next day we all left and went to our destinations. God must
have been smiling on us that day, because Red caught him at the Four Seasons. She placed his wallet on the inside of his coat. I’m sure he was confused about that one. I made a mental note for her to teach me that trick.

  By the time I returned to the hotel, Joy had the pictures, and Red was at the suite. Roxy came in late. Our mark didn’t get home until after six. He left there before she arrived so we knew he left his house early in the morning. When he approached Yoda and me, it was early in the morning, so we had one shot to make it right. I laid the whole plan out to the girls, and everyone was set to go for the next day.

  Camera World was my first stop. When Abdullah opened the gates to the store, I was outside waiting for him. I picked up two two-way radios, along with recording devices and a miniature microphone. It was the same set up, plus a little more, that Yoda and I used the day he killed the freak. Then I headed back to my suite.

  On the morning of the sting, I proposed to use a midget instead of a child and Joy protested. “Daddy, I’m gonna play my part. Meet me downtown, and I’ll get the little boy.” I didn’t think she was serious or capable, but I had to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  Roxy had her part down, and Red was going to roll in later. Red put on a business suit and had the briefcase Sharieff sent. She was ready to go. When I was sure everything was set, I told Joy to meet us all in Washington Square Park, and we were gone.

  An hour later, everyone was at the meeting place except Joy. In order for the plan to work, she had to be there, and the mark had to be horny and not thinking straight.

  “Damn, I don’t know what I was thinking about putting Joy in charge of this part,” I said in frustration.

  “Relax, sugar, you gotta use your disadvantages to your advantage. She’ll be here. If not, we’ll improvise,” Red calmed me.

  Ten minutes later, Joy got out of a taxi, tugging a little boy that looked around eight years old.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she announced. She pointed to the boy, and in a whining voice said, “He wanted to get paid first. I ain’t have but a little bit on me, daddy, so you got to give him two hundred dollars. Little bastard went up on the price twice.”

  I guess she didn’t understand the seriousness of the sting, so in anger I asked, “Joy, where the hell you find this little boy? Who is he?”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. Her head went back and she answered, “This little boy is fourteen. I know him from the Howard Johnson’s. He’s always trying to pay me to suck his little pecker, so he sure ain’t no little boy, daddy. So, pay him ‘cause I got to get in place.”

  While pulling out two crisp hundred-dollar bills, and avoiding Red’s eyes of scrutiny, I handed the money to the boy and asked, “Hey, shorty, what’s your name? You know what you gotta do?”

  He put the cash in his pocket. With an adult like attitude he said, “Hell yeah I know what I gotta do. If she stop riffing with me.” He gave Roxy's body a scan. He smiled, pulled her hand and arched his eyebrows. “Hey, sweetheart. My name is Omar. Maybe after I put in this work, me and you can hook up or something?” His eyebrows continued to bounce, letting me know that I had the right man for the job.

  I checked Joy to make sure her recording device was working, and rechecked with the team to make sure we were on the same page. Once my inspection was over, we went to take the mark down.

  Everyone was in place. I sat across the street from the three-story private house with the camera in my hand. Omar was on the far corner of the block, and Joy stood closer to the opposite corner. Red sat by the bus stop reading the paper. Roxy was around the corner on MacDougal Street watching to see if anything went wrong.

  After waiting for over an hour, Randolph exited his vintage brownstone house. He walked in the direction of Joy on Fifth Avenue. I watched her slide up next to him, and in my headphones, I heard the dialog.

  “Hey, Randy,” she said so all the pedestrians passing by could hear her.

  He looked at the pedestrians, glanced at Joy, and stopped in his tracks. “Do I know you?” He asked, confused and concerned about his image while looking around his wealthy neighborhood.

  Joy walked up to him seductively. With her peppermint breath, she was close enough to kiss him when she said, “A friend of ours sent me down here to get you laid.”

  He looked at Joy from head to toe again and said, “You’re not my type. Give me a break.”

  He turned to leave and Joy skipped two times and said, “Wait a minute. You think I know where you live by accident?” Randolph stopped with annoyance written all over his face. She then pulled out a group of photos. She was sure she had his attention then. Joy followed her script to a tee. “Your guy on fourth street sent me and the people up at Play Land said you don’t do lower level street stuff, so what you say we take this back to your place?”

  He didn’t bite. “You gotta do better than that,” he said, walking off.

  Joy persisted. She cut off his path by standing in front of him. “Look Randy, or whatever your name is. I’m not your type,” she pointed to Omar, “but he is. Nice and young and tight, just for you.”

  Right on cue, Omar made his jeans tighter with his hands in his front pocket, and moved his rear in Randolph’s direction—whom I had on zoom, watching his lips quiver.

  “Our friend, Guido, said I was to make the delivery early, before you went to the usual place because it was raided. I don’t want you or Guido mad at me. So, since he’s your type, I brought him down.”

  “Did you say Guido sent you?” Randolph whispered, taking the bait like a project rat to welfare cheese.

  “Yeah, uh huh. You walk into your house. Leave the door open so nobody will see me come in with you, and then the little guy will be in your bed when you come out of the shower,” Joy convincingly stated.

  Through my lens, I saw Randolph Christopher tapping his feet in contemplation while his eyes scanned to see if his neighbors were watching him.

  “You did say Guido sent you?” Joy nodded and looked like he was wasting her time. Suddenly, Randolph turned like he was headed back in the direction of his home. He looked over is shoulder and into Joy’s eyes, and I heard him ask, “How much?” in the headphones. We were in.

  “The usual,” Joy answered. I was so proud of her.

  Randolph Christopher walked through the gothic styled mahogany doors of his Fifth Avenue home and left them cracked. Joy walked down to the corner for Omar, Red left her spot at the bus station, and they all reached the awaiting door. Omar walked in first, Joy was behind him, and then Red eased in before Roxy. I cut the camera off and headed across the street. I eased my way out of the park and walked into the man’s house like I owned it.

  From the top landing, Joy waved for me to come up when I stepped into the house. Red slivered around the ground floor looking for a safe behind the expensive hanging art. Roxy was at the front door waiting for Omar to come back, or in case something didn’t go according to plan.

  As I took each step, I avoided hitting the swords and shields that covered the wood paneled walls. I could hear the shower running to my left down a hollow hall. Joy sat on a thick cushioned bench outside of the bedroom with Omar’s clothes in her hands. I stepped into the all white bedroom, hearing Randolph in the Master bathroom. Omar was in the middle of the brass bed already naked, holding a big chrome .45 Automatic Colt in his small hands. I jumped back when I saw the gun aiming my way. I then looked back at him and mouthed the words, “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged his frail shoulders and bounced his eyebrows with a smile. He then pointed under the pillow before handing the gun over to me. I slowly crept out of the room on the tips of my toes. I tossed the gun to Joy, and she dropped it down to Roxy. I headed back to the bedroom and heard the water in the shower stop. I was stuck in hallway.

  The morning light peeked through the large double windows in the bedroom, causing the hall where I stood to glow. Without making a creak in the hardwood floor under me, I inched forward for a better view
. The brass, king-sized bed was to my right. The entrance to the bathroom was in the back of the room to the left. My camera caught a naked Randolph stepping out of the bathroom. He slipped into the bed, pulled the covers over his body, and as soon as he hugged Omar, I walked into the room to get it all on tape.

  Omar flew from under the covers. While passing me, I handed the camera off to him. If all went well, he was going to pass it down to Roxy, and she was going to meet me at the hotel with the tape.

  Instantly, Randolph reached for his gun. “Kiddy freak! That won’t be necessary,” I said.

  When he realized that his gun was gone, he combed his manicured fingers through his blonde hair, wiped his well shaven face, and then slammed his head against the pillow in frustration. “Shit! I have to get personal security,” he mumbled, more to himself. Then he tucked his hands behind his head. “Take whatever you want. Just don’t kill me,” he said flatly, like I was his servant.

  I pulled a brass stool up to negotiate. “Whatever I want?”

  Filled with disgust he said, “Look, man, you niggers come into my home? Take what you want to support your Crack habit and get the hell out, okay?”

  I fought my anger. “What if I take your innocence, or what’s left of your manhood? What if I ram myself deep into your little hole, you sodomite? You’re worth a few hundred million, what do you have to offer?”

  I got his attention then. “Who sent you? What do you want? Please, just leave,” he asked in terror, realizing I wasn’t the normal Crack thief.

  My hand hit his face, sounding like a clap of thunder.

  “What do you have to offer, freak boy? Did you like the video?” I asked, holding the back of his head as he whimpered. “Better yet, what is it worth to you to make sure the entire New York City isn’t watching it in the heart of Times Square?”

  Tears rolled down his soft face. “Mama! Oh God, no. Okay! Okay—okay. Whatever you want.”

  I stood and brushed myself off. “I want property.”