Natural Born Hustler

by Nikki Turner

  Women went to great lengths to be beautiful, he thought; and so would he, to pull off a good lick.

  Tommy had informed Fame that near the restrooms in the rear corner of the first floor was a set of double doors that led to the kitchen/storage room. Beyond that was Dominique’s office, if what Tommy told him was true. He had no reason to doubt it; Tommy’s word was usually on point.

  Fame looked at his watch, and, according to a reliable source, Dominique would be in the office at that very moment, counting money. Dominique trusted no one with his paper; word on the street was that he had even put a spy in the club to oversee the bar and door money. All the strippers had to pay 25 percent of their tip money, and if he felt shorted in any way, the culprit would be beaten and banned from the club, maybe worse.

  A Young Jeezy cut was playing when a short biracial Asian/black girl climbed on the stage like an untamed, sleek panther. Fame was just about to rise from the table. “I’m gonna go take a closer look.”

  Before he could get up, though, a waitress wearing a black micro-minidress walked up with two blue drinks on a tray; she set the glasses down on the table. “From the gentleman over there,” she said over the music, pointing to an overdressed wannabe pimp in a purple suit.

  The purple suit cat raised his own glass when they looked in his direction, as if making some type of long-distance toast. Fame became grim.

  This wasn’t good. The last thing they needed was an admirer getting in their mix when they accepted the drinks. But by rejecting them, it could cause even more of a scene if purple suit was half the clown he looked to be.

  Desember took charge. “Tell dude thanks for the drinks, and I will be sure to get my boyfriend to repay him as soon as he gets finished working the door.”

  “Will do,” the waitress said in an understanding tone, winked, then gracefully shook her ass to the beat as she sashayed away to deliver the message.

  “I hope dude don’t make me put a hot ball in his ass,” Fame said, after the waitress was out of earshot, agitated with the tight Spanx and being hit on and ready to get the job done.

  Desember started laughing softly, then a little harder.

  “What’s funny?” Fame wanted to know, still mad about being hit on by a man. Never mind that he was dressed as a woman. It still felt insulting.

  Desember raised an eyebrow and tried to match Fame’s tone. “Dude is probably hoping that he could put one in you too, but a different kind of hot ball.” Then she cracked up laughing again.

  Fame didn’t feed into it. “Look, stay focused on the risky business, not the risqué business. We here to work.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  “This is what’s up. If I come from the back and don’t look at you, wait ten minutes before leaving and meet me at the spot we agreed on.”

  She nodded. “Cool.”

  Fame left the table.

  When he got to the ladies’ restroom, he made a quick scan, then slid through the double doors. The room he entered was large and dark. Off to the right was an oversized wooden door. It was closed. A line of light was shining from underneath it. He pulled the Glock from under his dress and quietly made his way to the source of the light.

  Closer now, he heard movement from inside the room.

  Dominique was there, just as Tommy had said he would be.

  Fame put his hand on the knob and twisted.

  It turned.

  Dominique looked to the intruder, surprised at first, then his face revealed annoyance as he saw that the intruder was a woman. “BITCH—”

  Then he saw the .40-caliber Glock and stopped mid-sentence.

  He regrouped. “What the fuck is going on?” There was a little bravado in his voice, as he tried to mask his fear and surprise that somebody was able to get to him.

  “Your worst nightmare, chump. But whether you wake up from it or not is definitely up to you.” Fame’s eyes swayed to the large mahogany desk, the surface full of stacks of money. This was Dominique’s cash drop-off spot, until he had the dope money counted and relocated to a safer spot. Only he knew the location of the latter.

  “Are you crazy? You think you can rob me and get away with it?” Dominique’s anger mounted. Pellets of sweat formed on his brow.

  “You the one that must be crazy if you think I’m not,” Fame said calmly. “Dead or alive—on your part—but I’m leaving with the paper.”

  Dominique looked as if he was waiting for something to happen, like he had the upper hand somehow. Fame was ready to knock the smug look off of his face, when he heard something behind him. He jerked around to see who it was.

  “You good, baby. I got this fool.” It was Desember, his ace in the hole. She had her gun in the back of what must be one of Dominique’s goons. “I saw him come in behind you, but he didn’t see me until it was too late,” she said.

  “Now that e’ryone’s here, time to party. Get on the fucking floor now, and maybe you’ll be able to get up off of it after I’m done,” ordered Fame to the two men.

  Dominique and his goon did as they were told. Dominique was a fool sometimes, but he wasn’t a damn fool, that’s for certain. “Take what you want … you got that. Sometimes you gotta accept your loses and live on to fight another day.”

  “Keep your gun on these two for a second.”

  While Desember kept the two men honest, Fame snatched a couple of extension cords from the wall and used them to tie both men’s hands and feet together.

  Everything on the desk was slid into two large plastic trash bags Fame had brought along for the occasion. They made it out a back door with over three hundred thou. It was easier than getting head from a trick with a pocket full of rocks.

  They got out like bandits in the night, and once they were home, Fame dumped the contents of the bag on the bed, and Desember counted the take. As she sorted everything to count it, she held up an envelope. “What’s this?”

  Fame took it out of her hand and examined it. A smile broke across his face. “This here is the remix,” he stated, having realized that it was Dominique’s power bill. He figured it was his main residence. Tommy could never find out where Dom lived but knew that wherever the guy laid his head, there was probably more paper to be had.

  Desember didn’t understand the gold mine she had found, but Fame did. He took her in his arms and they made passionate love on top of the three hundred thousand dollars of stolen money.

  Fuck the six-hundred-thread-count sheets.

  9.

  Clearance Sale

  The action was heavy in the Clark Station Projects. The sun was shining but the temperature was still cool. That didn’t stop the natural grind of the projects, and Desember was a natural-born hustler taking advantage of all the elements.

  She had a small U-Haul truck full of must-go merchandise: king and queen comforter sets, mattresses, ten cases of champagne, iPods, Sony PlayStations, winter coats and clothes for both kids and adults. Kim had hurt the stores with a few well-backed stolen credit cards. Not to mention the E-pills she’d gotten from Fame. It was the third of the month and Christmas was now less than two months away. Money was jumping like corn liquor and nigger jokes at a KKK rally.

  Desember had just sold another mattress set and she watched two teenage boys get it off the U-Haul truck while their mother gave instructions on transporting it. Her phone rang; it was Fame.

  “What, baby?” She spoke loud to be heard over the commotion.

  He ignored the question and asked his own, “Where are you, D?”

  “Out here getting paper this first of the month.” She had left the house at 8 A.M. and it was now 2:45 in the afternoon. “You know the early bird gets the cake.”

  “You mean the worm,” Fame corrected.

  “Fuck the worm, baby,” she corrected his correction, “I’m just chasing the cake, boo.” She put a finger up, directing the girl who had just walked over to give her a moment, and then got back to Fame. “Where you at?” She tried turning the tables.r />
  “I’m in the crib.” She could hear a touch of irritation in his voice. “Where I thought that you would be by now. I’d planned to lay up today, you and me, watch a movie together or something.”

  “Don’t nothing come to you in your sleep but a dream,” she shot back. “You know that only a broke bitch should be in the house when the bank is open.” Desember was feeling herself. It wasn’t even three yet and she had netted over three thousand dollars’ profit. She had no intention of going home until everything was gone.

  For Desember the hustle was more for the sport than the money, but the paper was a helluva perk. Fame knew her addiction to the grind before they hooked up. He used to call her Energizer Bunny on crack. He just had no idea that his baby girl would choose the thrill of the streets over the thrill he could give her at home.

  “Plus, I got something I want to talk to you about,” he said.

  The girl who was waiting on her to get off the phone mouthed, “Do you have any more of dem Deréon jeans?”

  Desember nodded and put her finger up again, telling the girl to wait. “I got a second. What’s up, baby?” she asked while looking through a huge black plastic shopping bag.

  He said, “I’ll get at cha later about it, when you can spare more than a second.”

  “Don’t be like that, baby, I’m always all yours. Tell me now. Please?” He loved when she begged. “I got the same jeans that’ll fit your daughter,” she said with her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone to the girl who was waiting. “She’s about a 6x now, right?”

  “You dat bitch for knowing that. I just started getting her size last week.”

  “Okay,” Fame said, breaking down, “I was thinking maybe we could go to Vegas next week. Neither of us ever been and it ain’t like we hurting for paper. We might as well enjoy it. What you think? Down for a week or so in Sin City?”

  “How much for dem both?” the girl asked, referring to the jeans for herself and her daughter.

  “Give me fiddy for both.”

  “What?” asked Fame.

  “My bad, baby. I was trying to get this girl what she wanted,” she explained, admitting to the distraction. “I’d love to go to Vegas. Sounds divine to me. I’ll call my mom and get the number to the travel agent she uses, okay?”

  She gave the girl the two pairs of jeans in exchange for the $50. As the girl was walking away, she turned and hollered back, “Oh yeah! Midget Man’s girlfriend is up top, so you might want to get word to her. You know she love spending that crazy-ass nigga’s money.”

  “I know that’s right,” Desember agreed, and had a smile on her face when Fame spoke up.

  “Midget Man?” Fame questioned, not wanting to believe that Desember had gone against his wishes. “Don’t tell me you in Clark Station.”

  Desember didn’t respond immediately, but her silence was answer enough.

  “Didn’t I ask you not to fuck around over there?” The accusation was in the form of a question. “That ain’t a place for a lady,” he continued, “especially no lady of mine.”

  He was past being upset with her; to say he was highly disappointed would have been an understatement.

  “You feel like you can do whatever you want—Ms. Independent—but I ain’t trying to roll in that type of relationship, ya hear?”

  That was the last thing she did hear before the phone went dead.

  Desember tried calling him back over and over, but Fame wouldn’t answer. The nigga could be even more stubborn than her when he got mad.

  Well, the bell had already been rung; she couldn’t take it back—that was impossible. She decided to finish unloading her things, chill out to catch up on gossip and news with her friends, and hopefully Fame would forgive her by the time she got home.

  Desember snapped the phone shut again. “Fame can be so damn stubborn sometime. Why won’t he just answer the phone?”

  Desember was sitting in the front room of Kayla’s apartment, on the cream Italian leather love seat, which contrasted beautifully with the strawberry paint job. The interior décor made Kayla’s apartment by far the flyest in the project complex; it didn’t look like a project inside of her apartment.

  Kayla was across from Desember, in a recliner, sitting with her baby girl in her arms, searching for the right words to say to her friend. “Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Kayla pointed out while she rocked little Kaylisa.

  “Meaning?” Desember looked offended. Not because of the statement, but the person making the statement.

  “Meaning, you are one of the most stubborn people I know,” said Kayla. “God only knows, girl, I fucks with you like grits and cheese but you can be a lot to handle sometimes.”

  Desember gave her friend a look like she’d had one too many shots of liquor, but neither of them was drinking.

  “And don’t give me that look, like you can’t believe I said it. You know it’s true.”

  “It’s not,” protested Desember. “I’m almost always accommodating.”

  “Yeah, for your clients, as long as it accommodates you or it guarantees that they coming back.” Kayla got up slowly, careful not to wake the baby. She padded barefoot across the pink carpet, which covered the entire apartment, and placed Kay lisa in her playpen, located in the center of the room.

  It was out of character for Kayla to go against her, so Desember sat back and waited as Kayla voiced her thoughts.

  “You’re my best friend since the sandbox in the yard at elementary and I love you like a sister, but let’s be honest.…”

  Desember repositioned herself so that she was sitting at the edge of the love seat. “Okay,” she agreed, “let’s be honest. I want to hear this.”

  Kayla sat back down. “I’ve never met anyone,” she said, looking directly at her best friend in the world, “who wanted what she wants, when she wants and where she wants like you.”

  Desember objected, “That’s not—”

  “It is true,” Kayla cut her off. “But that doesn’t make you a bad person,” she said. “In fact, that’s what makes you who you are.”

  Desember thought about what she had heard for a second. “So you saying I’m a spoiled-ass control freak?” she asked.

  “No, I’m—Well, yes, I am, I guess. But it’s only because you know what you want,” she added. “I wish I was more like you sometimes. Who’d of thought you and Fame would ever in a million years get together in the first place, the way y’all used to fight like the Hatfields and McCoys?”

  “We did use to go at it pretty hard, huh?” She thought back to her and Fame’s fights.

  “Did y’all? If they were rocking dem reality shows like they do now, y’all two would be filthy rich. That shit was true drama at its finest, girl.”

  “That ain’t no lie,” agreed Desember. “Now, we still argue from time to time. You know, just to let ’im know that I’m still that bitch.”

  “And he must be that nigga,” Kayla reminded her. “Because don’t get it twisted, you always shined like the star you are, but since Fame made it official, the sun came in second to yo glow some days, girl.” Kayla got up again, this time heading to the kitchen. “You want one of these apple wine coolers, girl? My mouth is dry as shit and I need a buzz, I ain’t even gonna lie.”

  “You know they my shit, bitch,” Desember accepted, turning in her seat. “Don’t act like you forgot who turned you on to them joints.”

  Kayla grabbed two bottles out of the fridge, gave Desember one, then said, “I’ma put Kaylisa in the back so we can fi’e up a blunt to go with the coolers.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Her ass too young to be getting fucked up like her mother,” Desember joked, tired of being the one under the spotlight.

  “Bitch, I barely smoke weed once a month,” Kayla shot back, “and when I do, it’s with yo ass.”

  Desember raised an eyebrow in thought. “Okay, you got me there,” she said as she pulled a sandwich bag from her Gucci purse. “Hurry up, tho, ’cause dis
shit here,” holding up the bag, studying it like there was something alive inside, “Fame said this shit right here is that flame, girl!”

  “I might not be ready for that shit, then, girl,” Kayla said, half-joking, half-serious. “I ain’t graduated to the majors yet.”

  “Me either,” Desember admitted. “I guess tonight is draft night, huh?”

  Half a blunt and two wine coolers later, both girls were out cold on the sofa and love seat, the other half of the blunt resting in an ashtray on the table.

  10.

  Slipping

  Cedar Woods was the most upscale apartment complex in the city. It had its own indoor swimming pool, clubhouse and 24-hour weight room, plus tennis, handball and basketball courts. Inside, the walls were thick enough to provide extra privacy from neighbors with sensitive hearing to other people’s business. The apartments came with every single amenity to make the home more pleasurable. Outside, everything was meticulously taken care of by a well-staffed maintenance crew.

  At apartment number 1743-H, a worker tapped on the door. After about fifteen seconds, the man checked his clipboard, confirmed the address, then knocked again, this time a little harder. When he heard someone stir on the other side, he unconsciously wiped away some imaginary dirt from his crisp work uniform. He knew that bad appearances could cost a presenter their job, especially during a recession.

  “Who is it?” a gruff voice barked from inside.

  “Maintenance,” Fame answered, as if lying came naturally. When the door opened, “I’m checking the air-conditioning filters and the batteries in the smoke detectors, sir.” After the phone call with Desember, Fame set his mind to take care of some business, and get it off of her for a while.

  The man who answered the door was in good shape, tall, dark-skinned, with a clean head and neat-cut goatee. He had a cell phone pressed against his ear and appeared irritated by the interuption to his conversation.

  “Hold on a minute,” to the person on the phone. Then he asked Fame in a rude tone, “What did you say you wanted?”