“She’s a dime!”
“I don’t give a fuck. Well, what’s her baggage? All the dimes have some.”
“She pregnant. With your grandchild, I guess.”
“Oh, shit! Pregnant?”
“Tell the whole cell block,” Dre said sarcastically. “Don’t tell my mom, yo.”
“Ok, but what you plan to do about that?”
“I don’t agree with abortions, but she cheated on me, Dope.
And I wanna move to LA.”
“Yo, you are slippin’ calling me my street name on these federal airwaves. You would regret an abortion. You gotta take this blessing, because what if later you can’t have a kid. You have to get a job to get the bread to handle business.”
“A job? You didn’t work a fucking job! I’m going on the block. This some bullshit. Have you saw me with a ball? I am not trying to be like you and my mom all tied up at sixteen with no damn money.”
“Hold the fuck up, dude. I don’t regret having you or Kareem. Yes, it was hard, but I handled my business.”
“Look where handling your business got you, D..., I mean dad. Just brilliant, right?” Dre asked, sardonically.
“That was a low joint right there, but it’s cool, little nigga. I won’t be in here forever, I hope you know that. I made mistakes, but I made them to take care of mine. Now you gotta take care of yours. This phone is about to hang up, so tell Kareem...”
Dope was cut off, once again. He would have to wait until the next time he called to finish that conversation. Thanks, Dope. Thanks a lot. Thanks for nothing!
Dre sat in bed and let his father’s call linger momentarily and anger him more. To eliminate the stress, Dre smiled, grabbed his cell phone and made a call that would take his mind off his drama.
CHAPTER 18
Kareem pulled into the shopping plaza adjacent to Willow Grove Park Mall. He was prepared to complete his third job of the day.
He casually strolled into a Ross department store, smiling at the young saleswoman at the register who nodded at him. Rather than grab a cart, Kareem walked to the home décor section. He grabbed a $199.99 bed-in-the-bag and a full size Aerobed worth $179.99.
He approached the counter, and was greeted by a gray haired woman with a look that screamed mid-life crisis. She said to him, “These things are nice. Are they gifts?”
Although that would be a fabulous excuse for the purchases, stick to the original script, the devil whispered to Kareem.
“No, I wish they were. They are for my college dorm.”
“Oh! Congratulations. What university?”
Damn, she’s in the business. Go ahead and really sell it to her.
“Princeton.” He lied, smiling. “Could you ring these items up separately?”
“Sure, no problem. Cash, check, or charge?”
Oh, let’s see, the devil joked into Kareem’s ear.
“Check, ma’am,” Kareem told her and paid for the bed and comforter set with two different checks. He had 28 checks to go.
Kareem placed the Ross purchase in the trunk of the Lexus, and then headed to Michael’s an arts and crafts store. He proceeded to the faux flower arrangements and picked up a wicker basket arrangement worth $199.99. That’s perfect, the devil said. But look over there at the gold vase. That’s $329.99. We need that in the trunk. Kareem walked both pieces to the clerk and asked her to ring them separately.
She asked, “Why are you paying for these separately.
To which the devil wanted to reply, none of your fucking business, bitch, just ring my homey the fuck up! “I’m buying gifts for each of my grandmothers and I’d prefer to give them their own receipts, so that they can exchange them, if they choose too.”
The cashier responded, “Oh, I see.” She was not convinced by his lie.
“Look at the price difference. They both live in the same retirement development. Can you imagine the jealousy between the two of them? It would be obscene,” Kareem told her smiling.
He pulled out his checkbook to pay and the clerk retrieved a three-ring binder. In the binder was a list of people prohibited from writing checks at Michael’s, because a check previously written had bounced. David Kritz did not appear there, and he —David Kritz, that is—grabbed his two receipts from the clerk, and said, “Thank you. I’m sure they’re going to love these.”
Kareem checked the time and went on a bad check rampage. At Dick’s Sporting Goods, Kareem bought cleats, a pair of Nike’s and a tennis racquet. After writing two checks, the store manager encouraged him to write a third bad check for a $329.99 cow-hide racquet cover, and he did.
Kareem jumped behind the wheel of his car and cued E- Ness’s My Hood single to blare through the stereo system. Quickly, he ran into Circuit and bought a VCR/DVD player, Playstation 2, along with two games. Finished that, Kareem headed to Genaurdi’s supermarket. Not for food. For gift cards. He bought Nordstrom, Bed Bath & Beyond, Circuit City, Blockbuster Video, Shell Gas, and AMC Theater gift cards, all of them paid for with a bogus check.
It was after twelve-thirty, and Kareem needed to stop all the chitchat trying to convince store clerks of his legitimacy. He was utterly, David Kritz.
***
Before Kareem reached Toi’s, he stopped at the storage company and dropped off his day’s earnings. The purchases would remain there until they were due to be returned in ten days. He wished that he could thank the company heads for establishing the return policies. By his estimate, he would get back $6,500 in ten days for two hours, worth of work—more money for his stash. The separate checks assured him the cash refunds. Any refund over $300, in most cases, required him to receive a check in the mail, a check that wouldn’t ever arrive. The two purchases ensured him a cash refund, because each individual transaction would fall below that “check by mail” threshold.
He pulled out the storage property, and smiled. He was elated about his day of making money, and couldn’t wait to do it again.
CHAPTER 19
The urbane South Street vibe cast a serene feeling over Dre, mellowing his mood. The street, comparable to New York’s SoHo or LA’s Melrose Avenue—well, not exactly—was chock full of small boutiques offering the latest trends in fashion and food to Philadelphia.
Joel Berberena—to those that knew him, Chino—drove down the strip slowly. They were gawked by envious pedestrians and jealous onlookers alike. Somewhere in that mix, Dre and Chino found a bevy of easy girls that desired to ride in Chino’s BMW 745. The streets were good to Chino. He was fronted—weekly—a sizeable amount of cocaine to stay afloat, but not enough to lock down the area that he sold his product. Definitely, not enough to take over the game.
Chino parked on the corner of 5th and South just as a space became free. He stepped out the car, and reached in his Evisu jean pocket for change to feed the meter, because South Street beat cops would have the car towed for kicks. He donned a crisp white button-up and butter-colored Timberland boots. Despite the frigid weather, he only wore a soft leather Polo jacket.
Dre, along with other pedestrians, looked at the fly guy as if he was a rock star. The woman looked at the five-feet-seven- inches tall, half-black, half-Columbian, and his ponytail lustfully. Chino ignored the stares, assuming the women were beneath him.
The homeboys paced up the street to the smell of food floating from the various restaurants. They arrived at the Foot
Locker and the sight of a pregnant girl in the back of the store buying infant Nikes had mesmerized Dre.
Chino tapped him, “Dawg, we ain’t doing no stressing.” “Fall back, Chino,” Dre told him.
From the time they were both students at Germantown High School, the two had bonded. Dre had a particular loyalty for Chino built on his stand up character. During a high school craps game in a G-Town High bathroom, Dre and Chino were both taken to the 14th police district for possession of cocaine on school property. Albeit, Dre sold drugs at the school occasionally, on that particular day the entire recovered product belonged
to Chino, who bit the bullet and received an expulsion. Dre was suspended for gambling on school property. That was a major catalyst to Delores relocating to King of Prussia.
Dre gathered himself and unzipped his Woolrich coat. He scanned the athletic sneakers and selected gray Air Force Ones with a red Nike logo. The sneakers complimented a gray Polo sweat suit with a red Polo logo that Kareem had ripped someone off for to give to him.
After they purchased the sneakers, they walked down the animated strip to Dr. Denim, a premiere urban street-wear boutique. They both searched for something new and hot to sport to the club.
Dre approached, Alana, a saleslady, and told her that he was looking for some gear to separate him from the rest of the Philadelphia dudes. She told him that she could help him, and asked him about his budget.
“Budget! What the hell is that?” Dre said with a sly grin on his face.
Alana walked him over to the Roc-a-wear section and started pulling out pieces. Dre stopped her before she wasted her time. He told her that he wanted something new, but not regular.
With the sartorial, Kareem as his brother, Dre knew one-of- a-kind pieces when he saw them. Alana pulled out a pair of Evisu jeans. Dre looked at the price tag and masked his astonishment. He didn’t see the point in paying for $300 jeans, but Chino was treating. To match the jeans, Alana pulled out an assortment of Indigo Red shirts and Dre chose one. The year 2002 had brought back trucker hats, and she tossed Dre a fresh out of the box, Ed Hardy one.
CHAPTER 20
When Kareem arrived to Toi’s house, her mother, Diane, was in the driveway about to pull out in her car. He blocked her in, got out his car, walked over to her window and asked how she was doing?
“I couldn’t be better.”
“I promise to have her home by ten o’ clock tonight.” “Kareem, that’s not a problem. Just be careful with my baby.”
“Always.”
Kareem gave her a coy grin and headed to his car to back out the driveway, so that he could let her out. She pulled out and they both honked their horns at each other, before he pulled back into the driveway. Kareem parked and then went into the trunk to get a gift that he bought Toi. When he closed the trunk he saw Toi peering through the double storm door, alerted that he was there by the car horns.
Toi greeted him with a passionate kiss, ignoring the gift in his hand. He dropped the wrapped gift and groped Toi, pulling her closer to him. She pressed her pelvis against his, and she felt the bulge in his pants pressed against her. That was what she wanted. Toi was a virgin and Kareem didn’t mind her keeping it that way until she was ready to give him that part of her. Kareem was being pleased in the bedroom elsewhere. Toi was more than a piece of ass to him. She was his future. His mind told him to pull away from her, but the scents from her Victoria’s Secret body lotion and Escada perfume kept him near. When she was satisfied that she had teased him enough, she let him know that they needed to leave.
He followed her to her bedroom so that she could finish getting dressed. He lay across her bed and envisioned the day that they made love in it. He suddenly ran downstairs to get the gift that he had left behind. When he returned, Toi opened the gift and found a poster-sized picture of Kareem at the 2002 MTV Video Music Awards in New York City.
“You can pin me up to the wall with all of your celebrity boyfriends.”
“Or I can post it to throw darts at you when I am mad at you!” she said and nudged his head.
***
When Kareem pulled onto the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, he disagreed with the low marks that Conde Nast Traveler Magazine had given Philadelphia for style and appearance, or the lack of them. Downtown Philadelphia was gentrifying. New shops and restaurants added color and life to the streets and drew trendier crowds from the Philadelphia suburbs. Conventioneers flowed in and out of the new hotels. And the city government had done its part: Mayor John Street had committed funds for landscaping, street improvements, promoting the city’s new image, and the “Parkway”—the city’s grand strip—glowed with the colorful flags of dozens of countries.
Kareem found parking on 20th Street in a lot labeled “For Museum Patrons Only.” He grabbed their coats from the back seat and noticed that Toi was as stunning as a celebrity. She was dashing in a multi-color Versace silk blouse with a matching skirt, that fell below her knees. Fendi shades, Prada Donna purse, and Manolo Blahnik pumps further accentuated her beauty. She resembled a work by Picasso. Kareem worked at Neiman’s and that paid off beautifully.
He grabbed her and they walked the half-city block to the Franklin Institute, Kareem having forgotten all about his younger sister. They entered the turnstile at the museum and were met by a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex. Kareem took their coats to the coat check and then they toured the wonderful world of the sciences.
***
The opening stretch of South Broad Street was “Baby Broadway,” but the city had named it the “Avenue of the Arts.” Along it laid the Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts, the Merriam Theater, the University of the Arts, and the Academy of Music. That day was the last showing of the season’s “The Nutcracker” at the Academy of Music. Kareem hoped to get two tickets.
At the ticket booth, he asked, “Are there any seats available for the six o’clock showing?”
“Yes, they’re $17 in the amphitheater.”
“That’s all?” Kareem knew that those seats needed binoculars. He could not have Toi up there.
“Well, we do have recently cancelled, fourth row in the front parquet, but they are $110 seats. I’m sure you’re not interested in those.”
Is this whore trying my pockets? “Let me get six!” He planned to donate the rest of the tickets to street persons, and then sue the theater, if they were denied admittance to the show.
***
After the show, at Twenty21, a hostess guided them to their reserved table. He left Kareem and Toi with two American continental cuisine menus. The menus had some of the most exquisite entrees on this side of the Pacific. The menu also contained an extensive assortment of expensive wines and spirits.
Kareem reviewed the menu while Toi was enthralled by the ambiance of the candle lit, cozy restaurant. She was further transfixed by the courtyard fountain view their table afforded them.
“This place is for the wealthy,” Toi finally said.
“Well, tonight we are Vegas whalers, baby.”
A flamboyant waiter, whose name tag read “Nay-Nay” approached their table, and asked, “How may I serve you tonight?”
Toi made the ordering process very difficult, asking how much things cost. Kareem and the waiter wanted to scream. If you had to ask the price, you had no business buying it.
“She’ll have the shrimp scaloppini, and I’ll have the Porterhouse, well done, with the Twenty21 sauce and potato fries.”
“And your drinks?”
“Sure. Two daiquiris.”
“Both virgins?” Nay-Nay asked. Everyone chuckled, as Nay-Nay butter-flied away to the waiter’s area to input their orders.
“I can order my own food,” Toi said when Nay-Nay was out of hearing range.
She’s mad, so I guess she’ll be throwing darts tonight, Kareem thought. “Listen,” he began angrily, before she cut him off.
“I am not mad at you, Kareem. I actually liked that you ordered for me.”
Kareem smiled as his cell phone rang, and interrupted his reply. He looked at the caller ID and excused himself from the table, relishing how he had the eighteen-year-old Latoya Eala eating out of the palms of his tiny hands, that were made for forgery, not labor of any kind.
When he reached the bathroom door, he flipped his cell phone open and heard, “Yes...Telecheck...My name is Donald Graham and my personal check has just declined...Oh, the check amount is $3,849.22...The numbers at the bottom of the check are as follows, the bank routing number is 021549864, account number 65454, and the check number is 8459...My state ID is issued from Pennsylvania and the ID number is 75254698—”
“Put the idiot on the phone,” Kareem told his best friend and partner in crime, Marquis.
Marquis replied, “You want someone from the store...Hold a sec.”
The clerk said hello into the receiver, and Kareem transformed into a Telecheck representative. “Madam, can I have your store merchant number?”
“Uh, yes, it’s 987565254,” the store clerk replied, following the normal procedure and giving Kareem the vital information.
“Would you read me the numbers at the bottom of the customers check from left to right?” After she read the numbers that Marquis had just rattled off, Kareem asked if the address on the check matched the address on the ID. She confirmed that they did, and he told her, “That was a code-1 decline. We just needed more information for the large amount of the check. Your approval number is 9745.”
By the time Kareem sat back at the table, his cell phone rang again. He answered it and Marquis had told him that he had bought a sixty-inch plasma TV with HD. Kareem asked why the TV was so cheap. Marquis had put the balance on a stolen credit card. What mind boggled Kareem, albeit it wasn’t a problem, was that store registers accepted any numbers as the approval-code. The numbers were not linked to the company giving the authorization. What a shame?
“Listen, I’m at Twenty21 with Toi. She said hi, but I’ll holla at you later.”
“Twenty21 and she’s still a virgin,” Marquis said, and then added, “You’re whipped.”
***
During their ride home, Toi and Kareem reviewed their dreams, goals and aspirations. They often brainstormed what their future together had in store. Pure puppy love. He wanted to be a designer and she wanted to be a fashion writer. “We’ll be like Tom Ford dating Anna Wintour,” Toi said confidently, comparing them to the head designer for Gucci and the American Vogue editor, as she hopped out the car and jogged into her home.
Kareem backed out Toi’s driveway and had his Nextel operator connect him to Hermés in Hawaii. When the Hermés salesman replied, he told the rep that he wanted the tracking number of his package, which she gave him. He then called Fed-Ex. Posing as a Hermes salesman, he changed the shipping address of his three pair of sneakers to 1652 Martin Luther King Boulevard, apartment 6, Bronx, New York 12158. Marquis was a theater major at New York University, and he would pick the package up from the Mailbox Etc. store when it arrived the next day.
Laugh Now Page 5
