Life Without Hope (13 page)

I took from the cockeyed Suge Knight-looking lame and looked

into the mirror. I felt my heart racing in my chest and heard one

of the voices in my head pleading with me not to do this. I smiled

and called myself a coward and raced out of the door. I was run-

ning late by five minutes.

As soon as I stepped out into the hotel lobby, I was fortunate

a cab was waiting at the entrance. I told the driver to take me to

Frenchtown. He turned up his nose, and was about to complain

until I shoved a hundred dollar bill in his face and told him all he

had to do was drop me off at the gas station and wait for me. If I

was not back in fifteen minutes he could keep the money, but if I

did come back, there would be more where that came from. He

nodded his head like my new partner in crime. Money has a way

of doing that to people.

My palms were sweating, I had the jitters and for a moment I

thought about the dangers of what I was doing. You normally do

this kind of shit on your own turf, so in the event if something

went wrong, you had back up, or at least knew where to run. I was

completely alone. My only back up would be my wits and the

ability to talk fast and stay calm.

The cab driver dropped me off. I believe that old white man

could sense that I was up to something. I was trying to shake fear

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like tiny raindrops off of my Black skin. This was some gangsta

shit with an adrenaline rush so high I could feel the blood r unning

through my veins like ice cold water.

Nina and the Regulator were still posted up like watch dogs as

I approached.

“
Dude in the BMW been back yet?” I asked.

“
No but Stevey D and his boys back. They driving around like

they looking for somebody. I think they’re looking for the BMW,”

Nina said fidgeting. I did not know if she was ner vous or needed

a hit. Probably both.

I looked to see the black BMW easing up the street, Tupac’s

song was blaring from the system, “I Get Around.” I felt the six

ounces of Dreams in my underwear in a bag and the gun right

next to it, in case I needed to get to it fast.

The car came to a halt right in front of us.

“
Yo, my man, you straight?” the driver asked. I thought I

detected some urgency in his voice, like when you drive from state

to state looking for dope and can’t find none.

I went right into my act.

“
My nigga, check this out!” I peeked into the car, like I was

suspicious or something, at the same time I was flaunting the big

chain on my neck with the iced out crucifix on it.

“
It’s too many niggas in this car. It’s been some cats from out

of town going through here robbing muthafuckas,” I said, with

my eyebrows knotted up like they was the niggas. I was making

them look like the crooks trying to scheme me. I took a step back.

“
Nina go get my shit!” I was talking about a gun. Nina walked

off with a purpose.

“
Noo, noo, it ain’t like that,” the driver said, throwing up his

hands in frustration at seeing a sure deal suddenly go bad.

“
Get out!” I heard him demand to his passengers. He also said

something about he’d meet them up the street at a gas station.

I sat in the car, passed him the six ounces and tried to start up

a conversation about the police busting cats from out of state. I

talked fast and watched as he examined the dope. Six of the pret-

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tiest ounces of Dreams you’ve ever seen. He took one out and

looked at it closely, too close. Think fast! I had to rely on my

mouth and cunning wits.

“
Give me $5,500 for all of it.”

“
Whaaaat!” He snorted, turned from looking at the dope and

looked at me. “You said five G’s at first for all six of them.”

“
It’s a shortage of dope, I thought we had more,” I said and

watched as he took the dope out the bag. I held my breath. A

police car cruised by and we both saw it. It passed us. He contin-

ued looking at it, wearing my patience thin.

“
Man, this shit ain’t right!” he screeched. I felt for my gun. “I’ll

give you $5,300.”

I sighed a sigh of relief and looked around and reminded him

that the police was hot. I told him to give me the money; said it

like he was taking advantage of me.

He went underneath his shirt and I noticed he wore a money

belt. I hadn’t seen one of those things in my life except in the

movies. He counted the money and weighed one of the ounces. I

peeped the chrome plated Beretta in his waist when he was taking

money out of the belt.

He passed me the money and I put it into my pocket. The

only thing I was concerned with was getting out of that car as fast

as possible.

“
You didn’t even count the money,” dude said, looking at me

suspiciously like maybe a light was going on in his head.

“
I trust ya,” I said, about to get out of the car.

“
Hold up a minute,” he said and reached out and touched me

on the shoulder. From then on everything moved in super slow

surrealistic motion. Like the world slowed to a small pace. I

watched as he went into the bag, broke off a big piece of what was

supposed to be dope, bite off a big piece, spit candle wax and flour

onto the windshield.

“
Gimme back my muthafuckin money nigga!” The scowl on

his face was menacing like he wanted to inflict so much pain on

me. I wish that I could have stopped him. I listened to that cow-

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ard voice in my head that said,

I told you not to do it

. I shot him.

Again … and again … and again. He was not trying to give up his

grip. Finally, he stopped moving. There was a gray cloud of gun

smoke in the car shimmering. I took his Rolex, money belt and

gun. His blood was on my hands, it smoldered in my brain like

the stale odor of death in my nostrils. God, I was moving on

instincts. The silent rules that were handed down to me in the

ghetto, kill or be killed, rang loud in my head. There was no

halfway mark. I exited the car in a brisk pace, trying not to draw

attention to myself. As I walked across the street, I was nearly hit

by a car. I saw an old lady looking out of her window like she

knew what I had done. Nina and the Regulator looked at me like

I was the Devil himself, cut loose in Frenchtown. I ran across a

vacant lot.

The two dudes that were with the cat that I had just robbed

were standing in front of the store. They watched me with dread

on their faces. I had blood on my shir t and hands. “Yo, your

homeboy said he’s ready to go. They took off running in his direc-

tion. I jumped in the cab. That’s when I noticed the police car

parked behind the dumpster, the same one that Nina Brown said

was a crooked cop. I could have sworn he nodded his head and

smiled.

The cab drove through Frenchtown. It was eerie. The old lady

that saw me was now standing outside her apartment watching as

people tried to revive the body. Nina Brown was the only one who

saw me as the cab passed. Our eyes locked. She mouthed silently,

“
You owe me.”

On the way back to the hotel, I had the cab driver stop at a

local Radio Shack. I bought a boom box with a cassette player. I

got back to the hotel with a feeling of triumph that only a hustler

can describe. I counted out my cash, including my stash. I had a

little over nineteen grand. I was elated. I had to get mines from the

muscle. Lived off the fat of the land, coming up from the dirt.

Every day in the news, you hear about barons, rich white men

stealing billions from corporate America, people’s life savings and

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almost never went to prison. I took mines, but it only added up

to thousands. I knew if I ever got caught, they would try to take

my life. But still, I shared one thing in common with those white

men, the elation of greed. To us, a crime wasn’t a crime until you

got caught.

With the money spread out on the bed, I smiled to myself and

walked over and turned on the television. There was footage of a

high-speed chase, a car driving recklessly with abandon. It was

being shown from a police helicopter. I watched, fascinated. It was

me, driving like a madman. The newscaster was asking for any

information that could help lead to my arrest. For me, that was

good news. It meant so far they did not know who I was. Maybe

Dre’ did keep his mouth shut and the bust was really meant for Lil

Cal. My heart dropped in my chest as the camera showed a snowy

picture of Hope and I exiting the mall. The picture had come

from a surveillance camera captured from a bank that we passed.

It wasn’t a good one, but I could see Hope’s face. Luckily I put on

a hat. Shit! I turned off the television just as the station was talk-

ing about a shooting in Frenchtown.

I took a shower and fell asleep listing to the radio. I had not

slept in the last twenty-four hours. I dreamed about Hope. She

was right there in bed with me.

Someone was knocking at the door. Soft raps like a bird peck-

ing. I awoke with a start, my mind adjusting to my new environ-

ment. I got up, staggered over to the dresser and got my gun. I

peeked through the peephole, it was Hope. I flung open the door,

half hoping she would jump into my arms. To my surprise, it was-

n’t Hope, it was her friend Trina. I guess she could tell by the

expression on my face that I was not expecting her. She wore a

black minidress that clung to her voluptuous figure like the skin

on a potato. She was stacked like a brick house and knew it.

“
May I come in?” she asked, smiling seductively, displaying

perfectly even white teeth.

I peeked my head out of the door, looking both ways. Bitches

were notorious for setting niggas up from out of town. I touched

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too many niggas that way on the jack tip like that, wasn’t about to

let it happen to me.

“
I’m harmless, wanna frisk me?” she cajoled making a mock

show of searching herself as her hands manipulated her flesh push-

ing up her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her soft cotton dress

with its thin lace shoulder straps and low cut neckline revealed just

enough to capture any man’s imagination. Quarter-sized nipples

pointed at me.

“
Come in,” I said reluctantly, grilling her with my eyes like she

was in violation of something. She pranced in, her plump ass

bouncing to a rhythm of its own, straining against the soft fabric

of thin material. I could not remember seeing a woman as fine in

my entire life. She sat in the chair next to the bed and crossed her

long legs, one over the other. Her cur vaceous thighs spread for me