by Wahida Clark
Speaking of Michelle, that was my girl Michelle Martin y’all met earlier. She has been there for me since day one. She even talked her moms into letting me move in with them when my evil-ass mom first put me out. We grew up together. We have been in the same classes since the first grade. She doesn’t have any children and still lives with her ma dukes. I don’t know what I would have done without her, especially when my moms cut me off.
I have three big-head brothers but they are doing their own thing. I’m the baby of the crew. First, there’s Derrick, who’s a crackhead, then there’s Blue, who’s doing a bid in Northern State Prison, and Peedie. He’s the only sane one outta the bunch. He got a wife, a chick on the side and two kids. He is also cheap as hell.
So anyways, after I get on my feet and get kinda used to this being-on-your-own-with-a-baby thing, here comes Jermichael. Fine-ass nigga. My prince in shining armor. Bam! I get pregnant again. And once again I get promised the world, stability, the house with the picket fence, the all-American dream. I really believed in Jermichael. He was a hustling-ass nigga. Everything was going well, and all the way up to my seventh month, Jermichael was right there. Then one day I get a phone call that Jermichael got robbed and wet up by some stickup kids. By the time I catch a cab up to Helene Fuld Medical Center my second baby daddy is dead. He never even got the chance to see his first son, Jermichael Jr. So now it’s me, Daysha and Jermichael Jr. Once again here comes my aunt to the rescue. She helps me get a two-bedroom Section 8 apartment and now I get a bigger check and more food stamps. Wow!!! Yeah, right!! That shit is for the birds.
After I get situated and accept the fact that I now have two mouths to feed, here comes Supreme. Once again, fine-ass nigga, full of charisma and could fuck a bitch into a coma. But this nigga was jealous as hell and would beat my ass if I even looked at another nigga. His temper was wicked. So when I got pregnant with my third child I was devastated. I feared that I would be tied to this mean-ass nigga for life. So I explained to him that I wasn’t ready for another baby and didn’t want to keep it. No surprise to me, he flipped the fuck out and threatened to kill me if I ever thought about killing his seed. Needless to say, I was stuck; I didn’t get the abortion so he didn’t kill me, but he did kill some other nigga he was robbing. At least that’s what I heard. To this day I still don’t know what the real deal was. Now he’s in East Jersey State Prison doing seven years. Wow! Seven years for killing a nigga? Fuckin’ unbelievable! If he got caught with some dope he would be doing twenty-seven years instead of a measly seven. But hey, that’s how fucked up the system is. Meanwhile, I gave birth to his daughter Jatana while he was locked up. Not one of my babies’ daddies was present for the birth of his child.
Now here I be. Twenty-one years old, three kids, stair steps at that, three babies’ daddies and on welfare. Believe it or not, Supreme, the baby daddy on lock, is the only one who offers some help. Keith, Daysha’s father, is working and in the free world but don’t do shit for his seed and is an expert at dodging the child support people. Some niggas are just plain triflin’! Jermichael, may he RIP, I wonder what he would be doing and how different my life would be if he were still alive.
Anyways, Supreme introduced me to his cousin Charli. An older sista, fly as shit, from Brooklyn. He told me she would teach me a hustle that would be so good, I could tell the Board of Social Services to kiss my ass. His only request was that I break him off a little sumthin’-sumthin’ for the commissary every now and then and bring Jatana down to see him. I said, “Bet. What do I have to lose?” Having three kids, broke as hell, and on welfare definitely wasn’t my original game plan. Living check to check, month to month is for the chickens and I’m far from being a chicken.
I had to pick Charli up from the Trenton train station at five p.m. She instructed me to alter my appearance. I had to dress in business attire, put a wig on, makeup, the whole nine. She emphasized, “Don’t let a hair be outta place! You are on your way to being independent for real.” I was excited, curious, anxious and nervous all in one. I was about to learn just how slick this sista really was.
To get my feet wet we drove to Philly, where some outlet stores were. On our way there she gave a crash course, lecture style. She explained that our weapons were an ink pen, checkbook, credit card and driver’s license. She said the strongest weapon was confidence. She also told me that most stores will have a personal check limit sign posted and if not to ask one of the employees or even the manager what the check limit was. The homeliest, most naïve and friendliest worker was whom we were to seek out to service us. I was like, “All righty then!”
Our first stop was a Toys “R” Us. In the car she showed me a driver’s license, employee ID, credit card and checkbook. Everything was inside a Coach wallet. All the identification read Kathleen Dixon of Matawan, New Jersey. She even had a home and work telephone number that she had me memorize.
Once inside the Toys “R” Us she told me to grab a cart and she did the same. We began cruising the aisles and she told me to get what I wanted. I filled that bad boy up with pajamas, underwear, socks, winter clothes, Pampers and a toy for each of the kids. She grabbed a couple of things but my shit filled up both of the carts. When we finished she told me to pick a cashier. I looked around and chose the one who had the shortest line.
She snapped, “You’re not paying attention! If you’re not going to pay attention, I’m not going to waste my time on you. Remember what I told you in the car? Try again.”
Needless to say, I axed the one with the shortest line. My eyes went to a young, snobby girl, who looked like a high school student. There was a black woman who looked as if she would take a bullet for her job, an old white lady with cat glasses on and finally there was a doofy-looking nerdy dude.
“Which one?” She was testing me.
“I guess we can go to the old lady or the nerd.”
“Which one?” she shot at me again.
“The old lady who seems nice and can barely see,” I humbly answered, while praying that I was right.
“Nah.” She shook her head no. “But not bad. My gut is telling me the nerdy-looking fella.”
“Why? So we can flirt with him?” I was now beginning to pay attention and peep game.
“It always works for me,” she said as she maneuvered the shopping cart toward him. “I’m glad you learn fast. Just make sure you always pay attention.”
When we made it up to the register Charli put on her Ms. America smile and sang, “Good evening, Bob! How are you?”
Bob flashed a yellow grin and said, “Fine.” He immediately began unloading the cart and ringing up the items. When he was almost finished Charli diverted his attention by asking for a price check on a pair of jeans for Daysha.
As he did, the customers behind us were getting fidgety as they impatiently moved around and let out sighs that screamed, Hurry the fuck up, Bob! This caused nerdy Bob to rush. Charli whipped out her Coach wallet filled with someone’s stolen identity and began to fill the check out. I watched her as she expertly and swiftly wrote in the home phone number, the job number, the date and Toys “R” Us and then signed it.
“Seven hundred ninety-four eight-nine,” nerdy boy anxiously said as he grabbed a rubber stamp and twirled his ink pen. “I need a major credit card and your driver’s license please.”
“No problem.” Charli wrote in the amount of the check and handed him the check and two pieces of ID. I watched Bob stamp the back of the check, then fill in the blanks with her info. I was holding my breath, my right eye was twitching and my palms were sweaty. Shit, I really wanted, as a matter of fact, I needed all the shit that was in both carts.
I let out a sigh of relief as he passed back her credentials, stuck the check inside the register, handed her the receipt and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Dixon. Have a nice evening.” We grabbed the bags, loaded them into the carts and strolled out.
That was my first experience. By the time the stores closed for the night we had so much stuff in
the car there was hardly any room for us to be seated. Charli taught me to always hook the babysitter up first. You gotta keep the babysitter happy. I picked out some leather boots from Nine West and a leather trench from Wilsons for Michelle. For me, a comforter set from Bed, Bath & Beyond, a couple of outfits and then we went grocery shopping. All on a book of stolen personal checks and fake ID.
At this point, my new motto was, “Fuck welfare! Who said crime doesn’t pay?”
That lesson with Charli was two years ago. Now I am a master of the check game. I even train people to go out and do what I do, how I do it, for a fee or percentage of course. Daysha is now five, Jermichael is four and Jatana is three. I live in a three-bedroom house that I rent, still taking advantage of Section 8, of course. No more barely makin’ ends meet from month to month. I’m actually ballin’.
TWO
Bitch, you should have killed that ho!” Michelle spat as soon as Nina finished the wild U-turn in the middle of Hermitage Avenue.
“I wasn’t messing up my shit! You know how much money I’m wearing? I’ll catch that bitch another time.”
“I’m talking about Cream! He’s the one who needed his ass stomped!”
“Girl, fuck him! It’s over. And you know what? I’m glad the shit went down the way it did and how it did, because now I have no ties here. I’m getting ready to put my dough to good use. I can stack for real now and get the fuck outta Dodge. I’m sick of Trenton. I’m sick of these ghetto-ass streets. Look at this shit!”
“Say word?”
“I’ve got almost enough loot saved. I just need to go on a couple more missions.”
“Where to? Why you ain’t never say nothing?”
“Charlotte or Atlanta. I’m getting my kids outta the fuckin’ ghetto. Gonna find them a good private school, get a house with a backyard, a white picket fence so they can play without a stray bullet hittin’ them. I’ma fulfill that all-American dream for my own damn self! Fo’ real. I’m out!”
Michelle got quiet as Nina parked the car. She had never even thought about leaving the hood. But then again she didn’t have any children. It had always been about her. Hell, she still lived with her momma. BOOM! The sound of the brick cracking the front windshield broke her out of her trance and scared Nina half to death. Neither had seen Cream coming.
“Nina, let me talk to you,” he ordered as he snatched the door open.
“Call five-o, Michelle, now! Nigga, what the fuck is wrong with you? Look at my shit!” Nina screamed. “You done lost your damned mind?” Nina jumped out of the car with her fists balled up.
“Where was you at, Nina? Why you just getting home at three in the damn morning?” Cream had the audacity to grill her.
“Nigga, don’t try and flip the script. I had already told you I was going out with Michelle. So don’t even try it. Just because you got busted with some ho in my car don’t try to snake your way out of this. You busted, nigga! So accept it. It’s over! That was your last chance.” Nina got all up in his face now that a police cruiser was pulling up. She was like, Nigga what? The two officers were getting out of the squad car.
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” the taller of the black officers inquired. The shorter one rested his hand on his nightstick and kept his eyes on Cream.
Pointing at her cracked windshield she said, “He threw a brick at my window and he’s now threatening me.”
They both were now focused on Cream. “Sir, step over here.” The short officer pointed to the tree as his hand rested on his holster and his fingers twitched. Cream walked over defiantly, wearing a fuck-the-police smile. “Place your hands up over your head and spread them. You got any weapons or firearms in your possession? Any drugs or paraphernalia?” he rattled off.
“No I don’t.” Cream stood there.
“I’m not going to ask you again. Hands up over your head and spread them,” the short officer repeated.
By the time the charade was all over it was four in the morning. Nina and Michelle had to be up and out by nine to go on a mission.
At nine a.m. sharp, Michelle and Nina were looking tired as hell but ready to take care of business. Michelle had been promoted from babysitter to driver and partner. The new babysitter was old lady Ruthie from across the street. She would come over and watch the kids, cook and clean. Some days Nina would let them go over to her house. Ms. Ruthie lived solely off of her Social Security and food stamps. So whatever extra money she got from Nina was greatly appreciated. Plus she enjoyed the kids’ company. She didn’t mind working hard for her money and Nina felt she deserved every dime.
Nina and Michelle both had on their disguises, which consisted of wigs, makeup, moles and glasses. They looked like entirely different women. The conservative clothing added the finishing touch. Today was not a shopping-at-the-mall day. This was strictly a get-money day. Michelle had gotten a hold of some insurance checks. She had the personal checking account info of a Tina Machurley. The account was drawn on a bank with at least fifteen branches in the South Jersey area alone. Nina had from nine to five to hit as many drive-through windows as possible. The check-cashing limit of the drive-through window was a thousand dollars. So Nina typed out seven insurance checks, each for $975.00, payable to Tina Machurley.
She was looking over the checks one more time. First she combed the front of the check to make sure everything looked legit and perfect. She then turned the check over to its back. She had a photocopy of Tina Machurley’s canceled check and she carefully matched her version of Tina’s signature against the original. Once satisfied that it was a perfect match she carefully stuffed all seven checks in the Coach checkbook holder that she carried. Being that the banks she had planned to hit were all deep in South Jersey she estimated that they should be able to cash all seven of them. Give or take one or two.
Map in hand, Michelle yelled, “Let’s roll!”
Nina nodded to her partner in crime, locked the front door and on foot they went to find the stolen vehicle that she had Derrick cop. He had said it was a white-on-white Acura Legend and the keys would be under the mat. Nina never used her own vehicle, it would always be a stolen one or some crackhead’s who didn’t give a damn what she did with their car as long as she supplied them with a couple of rocks to smoke. That way, when the bank cameras or employees caught the plate number, the joke would be on them. After the banks were hit, she would ditch the ride by giving it back to the hood. Someone would happily take it off her hands.
They walked two blocks before spotting the pearly white-on-white Legend. “Damn, I was beginning to think somebody had stole it back from us! I might wanna hold on to this for a few days.” Michelle lusted after the new vehicle as she jumped in the driver’s seat and began feeling under the carpet for the keys.
Nina tapped on the window. “Unlock the door.” Michelle popped the lock and when Nina jumped in she warned, “Don’t even think about it. This shit is history after today.”
Michelle grinned. “You know I was only playin’!”
“Yeah right. Your ass look mighty happy to me.” Nina watched as Michelle adjusted the seats and mirrors and found something on the radio.
“Let’s do it!” Michelle was hyped up as she pulled out and headed for the highway.
An hour and twenty minutes later they were pulling into the first bank parking lot.
“Damn,” Nina pouted. “This country-ass bank don’t even have a drive-through! I should walk my ass right on in, shouldn’t I?”
“Hell fuckin’ no!” Michelle snapped as she rolled right back out of the bank’s parking lot. “Your black ass ain’t walking up in there talking about give me 975 dollars! They’ll lock your black ass up, Mrs. Machurley!”
“Whateva, bitch. You know I look the part, I can pull that shit off if I need to.” Nina snapped her neck back as she pulled out her list of the bank branches. “There should be another one on this same highway. Turn left and we’ll just cruise until another one pops up.”
Sure en
ough, after they drove for another ten minutes they came to another branch. The same rule applied just as if you were mall shopping: go to the easiest-looking mark. It was tricky, because the black folks were such Uncle Toms and harder on their own people than the white folks. There was a sister at one window and an older white woman at the other. “Go to the sister,” Nina ordered.
Michelle did as she was told. The sister smiled at Michelle and nodded as she counted a stack of bills. Michelle flashed her own Ms. America smile as she rolled the window down, grabbed the glass tube and handed it to Nina. Nina confidently stuffed the check and license inside the tube and handed it back to Michelle, who stuck it in the slot, pressing the green button that sent the tube sliding to their lick. Sister girl opened up the tube, took the check out, eyed the front, turned it over, eyed the back and began punching some keys on the computer. Nina and Michelle were slyly keeping an eye on the sister as they indulged in idle chitchat. A minute later they both let out a sigh of relief as sister girl asked, “Mrs. Machurley, would you like that in large bills or small?”
“Large, please.” Nina smiled as she went back to conversing with Michelle.
When sister girl finished counting she stuffed the bills into a bank envelope, placed it in the tube and sent it back. She then smiled and said, “Have a good day.”
“Thank you and you have a good one,” Nina said as Michelle took the envelope out of the tube, handed the envelope to Nina and placed the tube back. Nina counted the money to make sure it was all there as Michelle put the car in drive and they headed off.