The House that Hustle Built, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  Her body was tingling with anticipation. It had been two weeks since their last rendezvous. She was dressed in something simple and sexy, something sexual for the occasion—a white flirty top and white skirt, and no panties underneath. She thought about that dick and his touch. She smiled on the way he would kiss her, and the way he made her feel when things were good between them.

  The traffic in Staten Island was flowing. The GPS continued to guide her south, taking Hyland Boulevard toward Eltingville. She wasn’t familiar with Staten Island. It was the forgotten borough where many Mafia members resided back in the day.

  She made a few turns and was two miles away from her destination. The GPS led her to a small, wooded park in the area. She parked on the quiet suburban street and killed the engine. She got out of her Benz and looked around. There was no sign of Cash.

  Why would he lead me here? she thought.

  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number. It rang several times before he picked up. “I’m here, Cash. Where are you?” she said.

  “I’m in the park. Just follow the trail.”

  “Okay.” She hung up and walked toward the front entrance.

  As she walked into the park, a slight breeze rustled the leaves. The air was cool, and the sun was setting. The pathway she walked was strewn with rocks. Pearla tried her best to make her way in her heels. The park covered a wide area that could fit several homes, had benches everywhere, and a jogging track circled around the edge of the park.

  She walked toward a bench where she saw Cash standing. She smiled at him. He didn’t return her smile. She felt something was up.

  “Hey, baby,” she greeted him warmly. She threw her arms around him, hugging him lovingly, and could feel the butt of a gun pressing into her gut. He had a pistol tucked into his waistband.

  “You alone, right?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Too much shit is happening,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “There was a shootout yesterday in Brooklyn.”

  “What? Was you a part of it?”

  “No. I happened to be in the area. I was just visiting my pops. But I got word that three of Kwan’s men were killed.”

  The mention of Kwan’s name sent chills running through Pearla’s body. He was a scary guy. She’d heard about him and remembered when he wanted to have her kidnapped and tortured. Cash had foiled that plot, proving to her that he still loved her.

  “It’s too dangerous in Brooklyn, Pearla. You weren’t followed, right?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What you mean, you don’t think so? I need for you to be sure. Niggas are out there to get me, and you.”

  “I know, Cash.”

  Cash looked behind her, around her, and everywhere in the area, making sure there were no creeping goons in the bushes. There was no telling who Hassan or Bimmy hired to track them down. They could use Pearla to get to him, if they knew the two were still seeing each other.

  “I just wanted to see you, Cash. I want to be with you.”

  She pushed herself against him and pressed her lips against his. They kissed briefly. She was into it, but Cash seemed distracted.

  “Don’t worry, baby, nobody knows about us.”

  “You sure?”

  “If they did, then I would’ve been a dead woman by now,” she said.

  Cash felt that it was all becoming too much for him—the hiding, the murders, the sneaking around and everything. Being with Pearla was starting to wrack his nerves. He knew how Hassan felt about her, and what he would do if he ever found out they were fucking again. Hassan was a cold-hearted, calculating monster. There was no telling what he knew or what he was plotting. Not only was his own life at risk, but so was his family’s.

  He felt foolish, thinking with his dick all the damn time. Sneaking into her home, going into enemy territory to have sex with his ex, was a suicidal act.

  But that was the old Cash; the new Cash had to think rationally.

  “Let’s go somewhere and be together,” Pearla suggested with an inviting smile, grasping his hands.

  Cash sighed. He looked into her eyes. She was lovely, yes, but then he thought about the mistakes they’d made, or the ones he made. Once again, he started to feel that all of his problems were because of her. He felt that if he never went to warn her about the murderous plot against her, then Kwan wouldn’t want him dead. He would still be in business with strong support. Kwan was the muscle. He was the man keeping Hassan off his ass. Now Cash had two murderous psychopaths after him, and he was hiding out like a fugitive.

  “You look stressed, baby. C’mon, let me make you relax,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

  They walked off together, Cash keeping a vigilant eye, his gun at hand.

  ***

  Cash looked up at the ceiling while sprawled across the motel bed, butt-naked on his back, Pearla knelt between his legs. She wrapped her full lips around his length and width, but surprisingly, he wasn’t hard.

  What was going on? She always made him hard. She tried to get him up with her tricks and her deep throat, but he remained limp like a noodle. She sucked and sucked, cupping his balls and then licking them, but nothing.

  “Cash, what’s wrong?” she asked with concern.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s because I got a lot on my mind, Pearla.”

  She continued jerking his dick, hoping for some signs of life.

  Though there was a first time for everything, it was embarrassing. Cash propped himself up against the headboard and stared at Pearla. She was naked too. Her pussy was wet and throbbing. The limp-dick situation wasn’t working for her.

  Cash sighed. “I can’t do this right now,” he said.

  “What?” Pearla was taken aback. “Are you serious?”

  “This ain’t workin’, Pearla.”

  “It ain’t workin’? Two weeks ago you couldn’t get enough of my pussy, and you didn’t want to leave my fuckin’ house. The same nigga that went down on me while Hassan was on the phone, thinkin’ that shit was cute. But now I want some dick, you can’t get it up. What, now you a nigga with a conscience? You have regret? Nigga, please!”

  “It was stupid to do that. I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”

  “I fuckin’ came to Staten Island for nothing!” she barked.

  She removed herself from the bed and put on one of his T-shirts. It angered her that she put her life on the line and put aside her pride and resentment just to be with him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck you, Cash! You curse me out and storm out of my place two weeks ago after I gave you some of the best sex in your life, and now you have second thoughts ’bout us?”

  “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

  “And you think you’re the only one? What you think Hassan will do to me if he finds out about us?”

  “What if he knows, Pearla?”

  “He doesn’t know about you and me, Cash,” she told him. “You acted like you didn’t give a fuck not too long ago. What changed?”

  “I don’t know. I just have been thinkin’ about some things lately.”

  “Like what?”

  Cash stood up and stood in front of Pearla with his dangling penis. Though flaccid, that muthafucka looked like gold to Pearla at the moment. She was still throbbing, and she wanted to feel him inside of her.

  “You sure he don’t know, Pearla? I got muthafuckas tryin’ to hunt me down in every direction.”

  “Look, nigga, I went to see Hassan the other day, and I saw no indication that he suspected anything. In fact, the nigga had Bimmy give me ten thousand dollars. And he was still all lovey-dovey with me in that visiting room. We been careful, baby, though we had a few close calls. But I got a plan, Cash.”

 
“A plan? Well, I got a plan too,” he lied.

  “You do, huh?” she replied, almost not believing him. “And what’s this plan?”

  “I’m still thinkin’ it through.”

  She exhaled noisily. “Typical.”

  Cash had always been unstable, from the bitches he fucked with, to not knowing what he wanted. Pearla knew him like a book. Now he was worried about Hassan when he had talked so much shit before. She felt the nigga was a hypocrite. She was done talking. She was done with him.

  “You know what, Cash? Fuck you again!” She stormed around the motel room collecting her things. “I have come all this way to be with you, and this is the treatment I get. Fuck you!”

  She quickly got dressed. Cash sat on the bed butt-naked and showed no attempt at trying to stop her from leaving.

  “What the fuck is wrong wit’ you?” she hollered.

  “I just need to be more cautious,” he explained to her.

  Out of the blue, Cash had become paranoid about Hassan and Kwan. It was just like him. Pearla wondered what spooked him. He was supposed to be gangster; now he had a change of heart about their affair.

  Pearla grabbed her shit and marched toward the door, and Cash didn’t even attempt to stop her. He remained in the motel room like a fool—a fucking idiot man-child.

  Pearla turned around to give him one last chance to save the day. She was almost pleading to him with her eyes. Her look at him was shouting Fix this! But Cash was blank. He didn’t want to fix it. Maybe he couldn’t.

  “Fuck you, Cash! I can’t believe I drove out here for this bullshit!” She marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Pearla walked to her car in a foul mood. She felt so stupid. Why did she keep going back to him? She needed someone to talk to.

  As she climbed into her Benz, she pulled out her phone and once again tried to call April, but she wasn’t answering She reasoned that April and Bimmy were still going through their issues, and that’s why that bitch had been distant to her, so she decided to give her friend some space.

  She felt alone. She had no one to talk to. Cash was acting weird and scared, and April was shunning her. She wiped the few tears from her eyes and drove off.

  Fourteen

  The black-tar heroin in the balloon packaging was the absolute prize for Tony. His eyes widened at the sight of the drugs. The dealer held them out and waited for the cash transaction. Tony held out some twenty-dollar bills, totaling a hundred and forty dollars. He wanted them all. He was yearning to get high, to go into a drug binge. He wanted to buy enough drugs to last him for a week, if that. The dealer was shocked that Tony had so much cash on him. It was a first. But he didn’t ask any questions. He was a drug dealer, not a detective.

  Tony paid for the heroin, and the balloons were dropped into his hands. He smiled widely. The dealer pivoted and disappeared from his sight, leaving Tony looking like a kid about to walk into Disneyland. The project stairway was dim and gave Tony the privacy he needed to shoot up. The sound of a nearby door opening made him think otherwise. He decided to take the journey and walk to the shooting gallery called “Star Wars,” an apartment in a nearby project building a block away. It was called Star Wars because the people in the apartment looked like they were far out of this world. Tony’s only dilemma about the place was that other fiends would crowd around his treasure and want some for themselves.

  Tony was a skinny black heroin addict with a tattered appearance and a knack for knowing everything that went on in the ghetto, the projects, and beyond. He was nosy and talkative. His veins were narrow and hardened from repeated heroin injections over the years. So he had to desperately and meticulously search every inch of his body for a place to plunge the syringe into. He concealed the balloons on his person and trekked down the concrete stairway and took the back exit of the project into the street.

  The minute he was outside, he heard someone say, “Yo, Tony!”

  Tony turned around to see who was calling him, only to be instantly struck in the face by the butt of a pistol. The blow dropped him to his knees. He cried out in pain.

  Several men stood over him. Abruptly they picked him up from the ground, roughed him up, carried him to an open trunk of an idling car, and threw him inside.

  “Please, don’t do this!” Tony begged.

  “Kwan wants to have a word wit’ you,” one man said.

  The mention of Kwan’s name made Tony’s eyes become wide with fear. “Why-why he wanna see me?”

  “It ain’t my business. Just shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride,” the man replied.

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” The man smirked down at Tony. Before the trunk was closed and he was trapped inside, his captor uttered, “We got some company for you.” Out of the blue, he opened a bag with a dozen brown rats and dumped it into the trunk.

  Tony screamed and squirmed as they crawled over him. He was terrified. He squealed like a bitch as the trunk was closed, leaving him in the dark with the dirty rodents and the car driving off.

  Half hour later, the trunk was re-opened. The rats were having a field day with Tony, who was in tears and shaken up. But seeing Kwan glaring down at him was even more terrifying.

  “Tony, Tony, Tony, the muthafucka wit’ the mouth and the information,” Kwan said.

  “Whatever it was that you think I did, it wasn’t me, Kwan. I swear to you, I didn’t do it.”

  “Nigga, shut the fuck up!” Kwan yelled as he repeatedly punched Tony in the face, breaking his nose and spewing blood.

  Kwan gestured to his man, who closed the trunk again. They could hear Tony thrashing around in the trunk, screaming and pleading to be let out. They refused to open it. Kwan wanted to torture him.

  Five minutes went by, and finally the trunk was opened again. Tony was in tears and looking horror-struck.

  Kwan hit him again, breaking up his face and his eye, and then he shut the trunk again. They took complete enjoyment in Tony’s torment.

  Ten minutes later, they opened the trunk again.

  “Now listen to me, you muthafucka! Who set me up? And I swear to you, Tony, if you fuckin’ lie to me or tell me some bullshit like you don’t know, them rats are gonna feel like heaven once I’m fuckin’ done wit’ you,” Kwan threatened through clenched teeth.

  “Kwan, listen, please—”

  “Shut the fuckin’ trunk again.”

  “Okay! Okay! I had no choice, Kwan. You know I’m weak and I got a problem. They threatened to kill me.”

  “And what you think I’m gonna do to you!” Kwan shouted.

  “It was Bimmy. He knew everything about me, and he told me to relay the information to you about the apartment, knowing you would go gunning for him the moment you heard the shit from me. I didn’t want to do it, Kwan. But they were goin’ to kill me.”

  Kwan was fuming. Just looking at Tony was making him angrier, and he was ready to break his neck and tear his head off from his shoulders.

  “Tony, you know a lot about shit you shouldn’t be knowing. So I’m gonna ask you some questions, and, nigga, don’t lie to me.”

  “I won’t, Kwan. I promise.”

  “Where can I find Bimmy?”

  Tony was ready to utter, “I don’t know.” But the look on Kwan’s face made him choose his words wisely. “I’m not sure where to find him, but I know where one of his peoples be at . . . a cousin of his.”

  “Where?”

  “He fucks wit’ this whore in Queensbridge.”

  “Tony, that’s thin information. I need name and address, something to trade for your life.”

  “You know me, Kwan. I’m the man with the intel.”

  Kwan thought Tony’s attempt at humor was in poor taste. “Yeah, that’s what scares me about you. Keep talkin’, nigga.”

  “I think
her name is Rose, and she turns tricks out of her apartment in Queensbridge. And the cousin, they call him Run-Run. I think he was one of the shooters that day.”

  Kwan’s blood was boiling. He was keeping his murderous behavior under control as Tony ran his mouth. He tightened his fists, stood rigid over Tony, and glared at the heroin addict.

  “Yo, that’s all I know, Kwan,” Tony said.

  “How the fuck you know so much about people’s shit, Tony? Huh?”

  “I just have that niche.”

  “That niche, huh?”

  “Yeah, Kwan, but I’m down for you. Whatever you need, I’m ya nigga, fo’ real.”

  “You a dope fiend, nigga!”

  “A dope fiend wit’ right intel,” Tony countered.

  “You know what you can do for me, Tony?” Kwan said casually.

  “What’s that?”

  “Die, nigga!” Kwan said.

  And in a heartbeat, he brandished a gun and aimed it at Tony, who became wide-eyed again, overwhelmed with fear, throwing up his hands in self-defense and pleading for his life. Kwan opened fire several times, riddling Tony’s skinny body with bullet after bullet, including one that fired into his mouth, shattering several teeth.

  “Stupid, talkative muthafucka—that should fuckin’ shut you up for good!” Kwan slammed the car trunk on the body. “Let the rats have that muthafucka. Right now, I got a fuckin’ date wit’ this bitch Rose and one of her tricks.”

  Still clutching the smoking gun, Kwan walked away from the car and climbed into a Range Rover. It was time for some revenge in the worst kind of way.

  Fifteen

  Hassan sat in the jail dayroom having another intense chess game with his friend Sammy. He was playing one of his best games ever. He had been on point move for move, and had Sammy on the run, his pawns down, his knights gone, and one rook standing.

  But Sammy wasn’t going down without a fight. He had captured Hassan’s bishop and threatened with the Boden’s Mate, a move in which the king, usually having castled queenside, was checkmated by two crisscrossing bishops.