Larceny (17 page)

“How long you've been home?” D asked.

“About eight months now.”

“Yeah, so what you doing?” D said as he checked me out to see if he could notice any signs of me getting back into the hustling game.

“I'm a paralegal now. I work for Mark.”

“Who, Mark Rohon?” D asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I've been working for Mark for the past six months now.”

“Damn, Jay, I was 'bout to ask you was you tryin' to get down. I know we ain't never did business before, but I do know your hustling skills, and I'd love to have a nigga like you on my team,” he said, eagerly wanting me to accept his proposition.

“Naw, man, I ain't fucking around no more. I'ma do this paralegal thang.”

“If that don't work out for you, you know you can always holla at me,” D said. “So what, you getting ready for that party tomorrow?”

“What party?” I said, thinking about all the lavish parties I went to back when I was hustlin' real good. Damn, that shit was fun.

“The Madness Connection is giving a hair show and an after party downtown at the Sphinx Club,” D said.

“The Sphinx Club. That's off of Fourteenth Street, ain't it?”

“Yeah. You going?” he asked as he watched me fumble through the shirt racks.

“Naw, I doubt it. I'm just here try'na find a couple shirts or something,” I said, continuing to look through the shirt racks.

“They got some a'ight shit in here, but I already got most of this shit. Jovan, you know me. I gotta go up to Wisconsin Avenue to the V shop and get that signature Versace shit. I'ma holla at you, slim. Take care,” D said.

“A'ight, D. Keep your head up.”

Damn, if I ever wanted to ever hustle again, I had the biggest opportunity in the world.

I checked out a few shirts. I didn't see anything I liked, but I did see some shoes. I bought a pair of Versace soft-bottom shoe-boots, some Caesar Picotti slip-ons, and a pair of nice-ass Salvatore Ferragamo lace-ups. All together it came to eleven hundred dollars.

As I was leaving, I saw this gray Hugo Boss sweat suit. Now, I don't wear sweat suits, but this joint was hitting. I had to get it. The sweat suit was six hundred dollars.

I left and went to Grandma's to see if she had gotten those estimates to get the house fixed. As soon as I came through the door, I heard Grandma hanging up the phone.

“Hey, Grandma, what's up, baby girl?” I asked her.

“Jovan, I wish you would have came in a little earlier. You would have caught your daddy. That was him on the phone, and he asked about you. He wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah. Grandma, did you call and get the estimates on how much everything will cost?” I said, quickly changing the subject off my pops.

“Yeah, baby, but I dunno if you got that kinda money.”

“C'mon, Grandma, how much is it?”

“They want seven thousand for the basement and three thousand for the ceiling.”

“I got that for you, baby girl.”

“Jovan, where you get that kind of money, boy?”

“It fell out of the sky, Grandma.”

“Fell out the sky my foot. You better not be out there doing nothing illegal,” Grandma said seriously.

“C'mon, Grandma, I'm a lawyer's assistant. What I look like breaking the law?”

“Yeah, you better not, 'cause if you do, I'ma be breakin' my foot off in your ass.”

“Go 'head with that, baby girl,” I said to her, laughing.

“You so damn silly. Did you eat yet?”

“Naw, Grandma, I ain't hungry.”

I went upstairs to get ten Gs out for Grandma and came down to give it to her. It was about 6:30 p.m., so I decided to call Sonya. She had been on my mind all day since our picnic.

“Hello,” Sonya said.

“May I speak to my wife?” I said, happy to hear her voice.

“Your who?” Sonya asked, thinking the person had the wrong number.

“My wife,” I said, smiling.

“Who is this?”

“Who do you want it to be?” I asked her.

“Jovan, is that you?” Sonya said after realizing it was me.

“Yeah, baby, what's up?”

“Boy, you crazy,” Sonya said.

“Crazy 'bout you, that is.”

“Yeah, right. I see you finally called.”

“Yeah, I was getting scared. I didn't want you to call me and cuss me out.”

“Whatever, Jovan,” Sonya said, glad that I had called her.

We both laughed. Man, it seemed like I already knew Sonya. Outta all the broads I'd been with, ain't none of 'em made me feel like she did.

“So, Jovan, what did you do the rest of the day?”

I told Sonya everything I did, and she told me how her day went and how she bragged to her friends at work about our lunch date. She asked about my grandmother and when she would meet her. We talked for about two hours like teenagers in high school.

It was about 8:30 p.m. when Bilal called.

“Hello,” Jovan said, answering the phone.

“Jovan, you're supposed to be at my house,” Bilal said.

“Nigga, you never gave me a time.”

“Okay, well, I'm on my way home, so hurry up and come over,” Bilal said.

“I'm on my way,” Jovan said.

“You eat yet, Jay?”

“Naw, Grandma cooked but I wasn't hungry.”

“Cool. I'ma have Meeka cook something for us.”

“A'ight then.”

After Jovan got off the phone with Bilal, he put on his tan Armani summer jacket and headed for the door. As he was leaving, he called out, “Grandma, I'm going out.”

“Okay, baby. What time you coming back?”

“C'mon, Grandma, I'm a grown man now. You can't be putting your press game down on me like that.”

“Boy, shut up wit' your crazy self. I wanted to know if I should wait up for you so we could talk.”

“Naw, you ain't gotta wait up. I might be out for a while,” Jovan said, giving her a hug.

“Okay, baby. You be careful out there,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

“Always, baby girl.”
Damn, Grandma always be putting me on a serious guilt trip,
he thought.
I wanna get out and get my own place, but it would probably break her heart. I guess I'll give it a little time before I roll out.

On Jovan's way to Bilal's, he listened to the whole Scarface CD,
The Diary.
His favorite song was “Never Seen a Man Cry.” For some reason, that joint and the other joint “Jesse James” fit his lifestyle. Both of them joints used to put him in a zone, mainly because there was so much truth in 'em.

When Jovan arrived at Bilal's house, as usual all that big shit was sittin' on his lawn. You woulda sworn Mike Tyson lived at the joint. There was an extra car that wasn't there the last time he was there, a 600s 4-door Benz, and he figured it was Carlos's joint.

As Jovan came to the door, Meeka was right there with much more attitude than the last time.

“Hi, Jovan. C'mon in. The fellas are downstairs in the game room. Jovan, I'm cooking. You don't eat beef, do you?”

“Naw, Meeka, I don't eat red meat.”

“Good then. Tell them the food will be ready in a minute.”

“Okay, Meeka,” Jovan said, heading downstairs, where Bilal and Carlos were playing pool.

“Hey, my mu'fuckin' nigga Jay. What's up, slim?” Bilal said, coming over to give him love.

“What's up, Lal?” Jovan said, returning the love.

“Los, c'mon here. Jay, this Los; Los, this Jay,” Bilal said, making the introductions.

“What's up, Jay? As you already know, Bilal speaks very highly of you. I've been hearing your name come out of this nigga's mouth since Oak Hill,” Los said.

“Yeah, I heard a few things 'bout you also, and finally we meet,” Jovan said, shaking his hand.

“And from here on you niggas is family,” Bilal said, butting in.

“That's already understood,” Jovan said, giving him a stern look.

When Jovan looked over to his right, he laid his eyes on the most money he had ever seen in his life: stacks and stacks of dough, along with four money counting machines.

“Damn, y'all niggas got a lot of money layin' around!” Jovan said, amazed at all the money.

“We just finished countin' that shit, Jay. Well, I just finished countin' it 'cause this nigga was upstairs playin' house with Meeka,” Los said as he looked over at Bilal and laughed.

“Go 'head with that shit, Los. How much money is that?” Bilal said.

“A little more than five million. About five point three,” Los said.

“Man, Lal, that's a lot of dough,” Jovan said, not taking his eyes off the money that looked like stacks of cinder blocks.

“Nigga, a percentage of this shit is yours, so go ahead and kiss it,” Bilal said.

“Naw, I'm a'ight. What's up? Give me the rundown on what you plan to do with all this money,” Jovan said curiously.

“Look, Jay, this is the plan: we got five point three mil. We're gonna cop with three point five mil. After we get finished pumpin' all this shit, I'ma sell the house and most of these cars, head down to Atlanta, and turn all this shit legit, get some kind of business, maybe a few car lots. After we cop and move everything, we're gonna come out ten million strong, and after I sell the house and cars, we're gonna have like seventeen million altogether.

“Los is going back to Puerto Rico, and I'm going to Atlanta, and, Jay, you're going to law school to get that license, 'cause we're gonna need a way on how to legitimize this shit. Jay, I want you to go to Atlanta with me, get yourself a law firm, and we can enjoy this money together, 'cause like I said, a percentage of this shit is yours.”

“Yeah, Jay, Bilal talking some serious shit. You know the feds gonna be closing down on us soon, so we wanna be legit when they come, and from what I'm hearing from Bilal, you're the lawyer that can make that shit happen,” Carlos said, smiling.

“I ain't no lawyer yet,” Jovan said to Carlos.

“Well in two years you will be, and by this time next year, we'll be finished with seventeen to twenty million strong, divided three ways. So what's up, Jovan? You wit' it or what?” Los asked.

“I'd be a fool not to be, nigga.”

“You were wit' it ever since we were fifteen years old. You just ain't believe me when I told you we were gonna be rich,” Bilal said with a big smile on his face.

“Yeah Lal, this here is surely a dream come true.”

“Los, how much money we got left in the streets?” Bilal said.

“Not that much. Petey still owe that three hundred fifty thousand,; Li'l Manny owe me like two hundred thousand. He just called me a minute ago and told me come get it,” Carlos said. “Yeah, and I'll go get that from Petey tomorrow at one o'clock.”

“Y'all know the Madness Connection is giving a party tomorrow, and since I ain't been nowhere in eight months, I'm try'na go. What's up, Los? You wit' it?” Bilal asked.

“Yeah, I'll go, Lal.”

“Jay, what's up? You gonna roll or what?”

“Man, Lal, I told you we can't be hangin' out together. I don't want the feds seeing your face next to mine, nor do I want any of these bitch-ass niggas out here knowing that you and me are best friends. That's the only way we're gonna come out this game on top,” Jovan said to Bilal.

“Yeah, you right, Jay. You're the lawyer, and you know the law and how funky they play.”

“Damn, this shit reminds me of some old
Godfather
movie,” Carlos said, happy to see Jovan join the team.

“Shut up, Los. You a fool, man. C'mon, let's play some pool,” Bilal said, going over to the pool table.

“Jay, you know how to shoot pool?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah, I know how to play a li'l bit.”

“How much money you got?”

“Something light, 'bout five hundred.”

“Put it up then, nigga. Money on the wood make the game go good,” Carlos said, laughing.

“If that's so, Los, then where your bank at?”

“I got something special for you if I lose.”

“Okay, rack 'em then.”

“Los, go easy on him. He ain't got but five hundred dollars,” Bilal said.

“Damn, Los, you must be good like that, huh?” Jovan said.

“Yeah, and I'm 'bout to punish you!” Carlos said, racking the balls on the table.

“Damn, since you 'bout to punish me, you might as well let me bust 'em and get the first shot.”

“Okay, go ahead, Jay. I really ain't try'na embarrass you in front of Lal.”

“Whatever, nigga.”

They all laughed. Jovan grabbed the heaviest pool stick, chalked it up, and bust the balls. His first shot he hit in two balls; then he put in two more, and then two more. He didn't even give Los a chance to get on the table. Bilal and Los were looking at Jovan in shock.

“What's wrong, Los? I thought you were gonna punish me,” Jovan said, laughing at the look of shock they both had on their faces.

Lal was laughing hard as shit as he said to Carlos, “Nigga, you always jumpin' out there losing on that pool table!”

“Fuck you, Lal, and fuck your funky-ass pool table!” Carlos said.

Jovan shot the last shot, and the eight ball went into the corner pocket, straight down the pipe. As soon as that happened, Los threw a set of keys onto the table.

“What the fuck is this?” Jovan asked him, looking at the keys.

“You won the game. They're yours,” he said.

“Fuck you talking about?”

“The silver 850 BMW sitting out front—that's yours, nigga. Ain't nobody ever drove it but Meeka, and that was the other day when she picked Lal up from the courthouse.”

“Yeah, Jay, Los was gonna give that to you as a present, but I guess he wanted to get a good game of pool outta you first, or better yet, a bad game of pool,” Bilal said, still laughing.

Carlos did not find Bilal's statement funny. He said, “Fuck you, Lal! Look, Jay, the joint got a hydraulic stash spot too. It's small, though. It hold like two guns. I'll show you how to work it later.”

“A'ight, and thanks, Los,” Jovan said, picking up the car keys.

Meeka came downstairs and said, “Y'all food is ready.”

“Okay, Meeka, we'll be right up.”

Carlos then said something to Meeka in Spanish. Jovan looked at Lal as if to say, “What the fuck is going on?” Lal just laughed and said, “Oh, Meeka is Los's cousin. He introduced us back in Oak Hill, and we've been together ever since.”

“Now I understand why she gets a million dollars to play with. She helped build this shit and was with you when you had shitty underwear.”

“I dunno about shitty underwear, Jay, but she been with a nigga from rock bottom, and we're getting married after all this shit is over. We're gonna do it in Atlanta, and I want you to be my best man, Jay.”

“Always was and always will be, Lal. Forever I remain loyal.”

“Vice versa, nigga.”

They went upstairs to eat, and afterward they went outside to talk.

“Damn, Lal, Meeka can cook her ass off,” Jovan said, still savoring the taste on his tongue.

“That comes from our family. All of us can cook,” Carlos said.

“Los, stop lying. Only thing you know how to cook is crack.”

“Fuck you, Lal!” Carlos and Bilal started play wrestling and Jovan could tell they loved each other. Jovan thought Bilal looked at Carlos as his little brother, like he could fill the void of Mal-Mal's place in his life.

Los taught Jovan how to work the hydraulic stash in his new BMW. That joint was brand new, silver with light gray leather interior.

“Lal, I'ma keep this over here 'til I find somewhere to park it,” Jovan said to Bilal.

“A'ight, Jay.”

“Look, I'll see y'all tomorrow.”

“Jay, be over here at eight o'clock tomorrow. We got something for you.”

“Okay, fellas.”

Jovan gave both of them hugs and went back to Grandma's house. It was about eleven o'clock when he got in, and he went upstairs to get himself ready for bed when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak to Jovan?”

“Yeah, this me,” Jovan said, realizing it was Sonya on the other end.

“Why didn't you call me?” Sonya asked.

“What's up, baby? You miss me already?”

“Don't baby me, and yes, I do miss you, but like I said before, why didn't you call?” Sonya said again, this time with a serious attitude.

“What, you beefin', Sonya?” he asked her, not sure where the attitude was coming from.

“Yeah, I'm beefin', Jovan. I've been thinking about you all day,” Sonya said, this time with less attitude.

“Me too, baby. You've been on a nigga's mind like shit. It seems like we've known each other for years.”

“Yeah, I know. You sure we haven't met in another lifetime before?”

“I dunno. We might have.”

“Jovan, am I gonna see you tomorrow or what?”

“You better say ain't a day gonna pass that I don't see you.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep, Jovan.”

“Baby, all I got in this world is my—” I started to say, but Sonya cut me off.

“Hey, you better not say that. I saw
Scarface
before!” she said, laughing.

We laughed and talked for about an hour before I went to bed.