The House that Hustle Built, Part 1

by Nisa Santiago

  “We lost her,” she heard one of them say.

  “What about her friends?” another one asked.

  “No signs of them either,” another answered.

  What is going on? Pearla asked herself quietly. How did they know about her crew? They were always careful.

  She hid for a long moment, hoping the owner of the car she was underneath didn’t come back anytime soon. She had scraped her knee and felt dirty and sweaty. It was a low point for her. She hoped Jamie and Roark were able to get away too.

  She let a few more minutes go by until she removed herself from underneath the car. She carefully looked around her, and everything appeared to be clear and safe.

  Pearla hurriedly went to where she had parked her car and jumped inside. She started the ignition and then got on her phone. She was worried about Roark and Jamie. Jamie’s phone rang several times before she picked up.

  “Jamie, where are you?”

  “Where are you?” Jamie asked, sounding like she was out of breath and running.

  “I’m in the car, ready to come get y’all. Roark’s with you?”

  “Yes. We just barely got away from these muthafuckas.”

  “Okay, I’m coming to get y’all now. Where are y’all?”

  “In the parking lot by the Macy’s store, hiding behind some red Chevy.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Pearla wheeled her Benz out of the parking garage and headed their way. She drove inconspicuously around the parking lot looking for her friends, trying not to draw any attention to herself.

  She soon spotted Roark and Jamie hastily walking away from the mall. She hurriedly pulled beside them and they jumped inside the car. Roark and Jamie looked somewhat disheveled. No one said a word. Pearla drove farther away from the mall.

  Something went wrong, but how and by whom? Today’s mission was a complete bust. They had nothing to show for their long journey into Long Island. Going home empty-handed was a disheartening feeling. They never went home empty-handed. Each girl looked puzzled and relieved at the same time.

  When they got on the highway, Jamie was the first one to say something. “Rebecca.”

  “You think it was that bitch?” Pearla asked.

  “Yup!” Jamie replied. “I’m for sure.”

  Rebecca was a young girl that worked in Nordstrom, mostly as a cashier. She was one of the girls that helped Pearla with their shoplifting.

  Jamie added, “When I saw that bitch in the store, she was acting funny toward us, and then it happened that you called and told us to abort. The minute after you called, Pearla, security was on us, and Rebecca just stood there looking dumbfounded.”

  Pearla drove, analyzing the situation.

  “We need to fuck that bitch up,” Jamie said.

  Pearla didn’t respond. She continued to drive, thinking not about retribution, but about maybe getting into another line of work. Maybe that’s what she needed to do—quit while she was ahead and come up with another profitable hustle. She’d always known it was best to never put all her eggs into one basket.

  Four

  An irate Cash walked out of the downtown Brooklyn Detention Center on Atlantic Avenue with his mother right behind him.

  Momma Jones, clad in a short denim skirt, high heels, and a tight red top that left nothing to the imagination, was desperately trying to keep up with him and put herself back together. She tugged at her skirt while trotting down the courthouse stairs.

  “Cash, I’m sorry, and I owe you. You are my savior.”

  Cash wasn’t trying to hear anything she had to say to him. Because of her, he was out fifteen hundred dollars. It was too early in the morning to be going through this shit. He hurried toward his car.

  “Cash, I’m gonna pay you back.”

  “It ain’t about the money,” he spat back.

  “Then what’s it about?”

  Cash stopped walking abruptly and spun around to glare at her. Through his clenched teeth, he said, “You’re embarrassing me. That’s what the fuck you are—a fuckin’ embarrassment, Momma Jones.”

  “Embarrassment?” Momma Jones uttered, animosity swelling up inside of her. It hurt her to hear her own son speak and think so poorly about her.

  “You’re forty-two years old, and you still out here dressing like some fuckin’ hood rat and suckin’ dick for pennies. You think I need this shit?”

  Momma Jones glared at her son and threw her hands against her hips. “No matter what you think of me, I’m still ya fuckin’ mother.”

  “Then fuckin’ act like it.”

  It was plain as day to everyone that Momma Jones was a crackhead, sucking dick for twenty dollars and throwing her pussy away for thirty to fifties dollars. For years, she’d been feeding her drug habit via prostituting and stealing. She would rent a room out of a boarding house in some of the slummiest parts of town. She had clientele, because word around town was that she was cheap and gave the best head around.

  Cash hated that she sold her ass and sucked dick. Growing up, he’d gotten into plenty of fights around town with young dudes his age bragging about paying his mother to suck their dick and fuck. Cash was no punk or a sucker. He was an affable dude, yes, but when it came to his family, he became a beast and stood up for his mother and father.

  Momma Jones’s dark skin shined as if she was sweating after a long, hard workout, her blond wig clashing with her skin tone. The hard lines etched into her face and her sunken eyes bore evidence of the hard life she lived, her beauty corroded by years of drug abuse and prostitution.

  Cash only dealt with her when he needed to. He couldn’t pick his parents, but it was hard to turn his back on them.

  “I should have just left you in there.”

  “And prove what?” Momma Jones shouted.

  “Maybe have you detox in there, ’cuz you need to do somethin’.”

  “Nigga, don’t fuckin’ tell me how to live my life!”

  Cash fired a few crippling and unkind words at his mother and proceeded to walk toward the Buick parked blocks away from the detention center.

  It was a beautiful day, and the morning crowd bustled around the area. Cash lit a cigarette and took a few much-needed pulls. Arguing with his mother was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to drop her off and get back to business—stealing cars. However, Momma Jones was one to always have the last word. The two bickered at each other.

  When Momma Jones saw the gleaming Buick LaCrosse Cash was driving, she hollered, “And who the fuck is you to judge me, Cash? You steal cars for a living. Nigga, you ain’t better than me.”

  Cash simply shook his head, shot his mother an irate stare, and climbed into the car. “You comin’ or not?” he asked sharply.

  Momma Jones didn’t say anything, but her climbing into the passenger seat was her answer.

  Cash started up the car and pulled away from the curb.

  They rode in silence until Momma Jones asked, “You got another cigarette?”

  Cash sighed and gave her two cigarettes from his pack.

  “Thanks,” she said to him. “I needed one.”

  After dropping Momma Jones off in Crown Heights, the place where she did her dirty work, Cash needed relief. He wanted to get away somewhere and relax. It was still too early in the morning for him to be cruising about. The sun wasn’t even at its peak yet, and his stomach was growling for breakfast. He decided to hit up McDonald’s.

  Going through the drive-thru, he ordered a sausage, egg and biscuit sandwich, hash browns, and a medium orange juice. He devoured everything within minutes and drove back to East New York. He thought about going back to Stephanie’s place, but she was last night’s pleasure, and now he owed her five hundred dollars.

  His mind floated to a pretty eighteen-year-old he’d met last month named Tyesha. She was five-three and brown
-skinned with perfect tits and a booty like a brown bubble.

  Slowly cruising down Atlantic Avenue, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Tyesha. After the third ring, she picked up.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said charmingly. “What you doin’?”

  “Who this? Cash?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I’m sitting here thinking about you,” she returned.

  Cash smiled. “Oh, word? You thinkin’ about me? What you thinkin’ about?”

  “You care to come over and find out?”

  “Beautiful, you read my mind. I was thinkin’ about you too. Why you think I called?”

  She chuckled like a schoolgirl. “I know why you called.”

  “Oh, you do, huh?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I missed you,” he lied to her.

  “I missed you too.”

  “So since we miss each other, I’ll be over that way in an hour.”

  “An hour? Why an hour?”

  “’Cuz I gotta stop somewhere first.”

  “What? You gonna see another bitch?” she asked, a slight attitude and insecurity in her tone.

  “No, it’s not like that, Tyesha. I just gotta take care of something important, and then I’ll be over that way to make it a good morning for you, you know, massage your feet, scratch that itch, and tickle your needs.”

  Tyesha grinned and chuckled. “I like that.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “Cash, you better not take more than an hour to come see me. My parents will be home at three, so don’t keep me waiting.”

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Tyesha,” Cash said, with an afterthought.

  “Yeah?”

  “Come to the door naked.”

  She giggled. “Cash, you so stupid.”

  “I’m sayin’ . . . why waste time taking off clothes and shit?”

  “A’ight.”

  Cash hung up. He couldn’t wait to get into Tyesha’s panties again. Last time, they’d fucked like they were trying to make a baby. Good thing they’d used condoms. The way her pussy would tighten around his dick with his every thrust, it almost felt like a boa squeezing around his manhood. Yeah, Tyesha was one of the unforgettable ones—warm, wet, and tight.

  Cash drove the stolen Buick into Brownsville, Brooklyn and parked on Sutter Avenue. He jumped out the car and headed toward a corner bodega across the street from the Seth Low Houses. With the sun still fresh in the sky, the local thugs, hustlers, and residents didn’t swamp the area yet. People were at work or still in their apartments, and the streets weren’t busy at all, making it easier to find his father.

  Cash knew his father was always in the area. If he wasn’t lingering in front of the bodega, then he was hanging out in the courtyards of the projects, panhandling for money in front of the local liquor store, or on the streets. His father was homeless, but he was a good man.

  Raymond, aka Ray-Ray, was an intravenous drug user. Despite his tattered appearance, he was still an easygoing man with a warm personality. Ray-Ray would dance, crack jokes, and hold the door to the store open for approaching patrons; anything for a buck and some spare change. Everyone knew and loved Ray-Ray, despite him being the neighborhood drunk and drug addict.

  Cash walked into the bodega and got two hot cups of coffee. He walked back out of the bodega, sipping on one cup, and headed up the street. He planned to kick it with his pops for a short moment before he got things started with Tyesha.

  As expected, he spotted Ray-Ray opening the door for a middle-aged woman going into the liquor store in the early morning. Ray-Ray said something to the woman, putting a smile on her face.

  Cash smiled, seeing his father. He walked his way. “You gonna hold the door open for me, too?”

  Ray-Ray turned around and grinned heavily, seeing his son approaching. “There go my boy,” he said cheerfully. “You know I’ll always open any door for you.”

  “I brought you some coffee.” Cash handed his pop the hot cup of coffee and dapped him up.

  Ray-Ray happily took it and started sipping on it. “Cash, you always know what I like.”

  “I see you still got a way wit’ the ladies,” Cash said.

  “You damn sure right, I do. And don’t forget where you got the genes from.”

  “I know, Pop. I didn’t forget.”

  Ray-Ray smiled. He had a weathered look to him with a deep tan and heavy creases on his face—rugged as heck. He lived a hard life outdoors most of his adult life. He survived the cold, the rain, the snow, the heat, and everything else thrown his way. His addiction to heroin had had a crippling effect on his life for over fifteen years now.

  Cash always tried to be sympathetic to his father’s addiction, knowing he had a serious drug problem like his mother. One was on crack, the other on heroin. He had a dysfunctional family with a capital D. His mother and father had contrasting personalities—she was a bitch and a backstabber, and his father was so nice and easygoing, the most lovable guy anyone could ever meet. How the two ever hooked up was a mystery to Cash.

  Ray-Ray once broke it down, though, explaining that Momma Jones was once the most beautiful woman in New York City who ran her own escort service in the eighties and early nineties. He became one of her favored customers. He used his charm and humor to melt the panties off Momma Jones, and nine months later, Cash was born. Momma Jones named her son Cash, because that’s what she was all about—the money. So Cash became the son of a prostitute/madam who’d gotten pregnant by a frequenting trick. His family’s life was a book waiting to be written.

  Since he was a young boy, Cash had been a street kid, pretty much raising himself and wishing life would get better when he went days without food, shivering in a cold apartment. It only got better for him when he started stealing cars and making his own money. Cash became more about charm than character, telling the ladies what they wanted to hear to get his way with them. He was no longer hungry or broke. Bitches always took care of him, from money to shelter.

  Cash told his father, “I saw Momma Jones this morning.”

  Ray-Ray smiled, hearing his baby mama’s name. “Oh, you did? What she’s been up to?”

  “I bailed her out for prostitution.”

  Ray-Ray lightly grinned his son’s way. “It never gets old.”

  “You ain’t mad, Pop?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “Because she’s always getting locked up for the same old shit.”

  “And you keep bailing her out, Cash.”

  “How could I forgive myself if I didn’t?”

  “Easy. We all got our demons, Cash, some more than most. Who am I to judge that woman?” Ray-Ray set his cup of coffee on top of a pay phone and lifted his right sleeve to reveal the tracks running up and down his arm. “My life is in these veins,” he said.

  “It ain’t gotta be, Pop.”

  “Funny thing, Cash—I’m a great swimmer but feel myself sinking every day.”

  Cash sighed. “You ever think she loved you, Pop?”

  “Your mama had a thing for me, and I did love her.”

  “Why is she like that and you like this? I mean, I can talk to you—you cool, Pop—but I can’t ever talk to her. She ain’t gonna ever change.”

  “Cash, if you judge her, then you gonna have to judge me too. We both are doing the same harm to ourselves, dying differently. You know what my father, your grandfather, used to say to me all the time? ‘He who conquers a city is not nearly as strong as one who conquers himself.’ And you know what? I’m okay with it. I can’t conquer this demon, and I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Why you talkin’ like that, Pop?”

  “I’m just talking, son, that’s all. Your mother . . . she loves you . . . we love you.”


  When Ray-Ray wasn’t high or drunk, he was a wise man spilling out wisdom and truth that would have any man thinking and nodding his head. He’d been through it all and had a lot to share, from experience.

  “You got a cigarette, son?”

  Cash pulled out a fresh pack of Newports from his pocket and handed Ray-Ray four cigarettes.

  “I owe you,” Ray-Ray said.

  “Pop, you don’t owe me anything.”

  “We always owe something to somebody.”

  Cash continued to chat and spend some time with his father. They talked while lingering outside the liquor store.

  The time almost got away from Cash. When he realized how much time had passed, he thought about Tyesha. He said to his father, “You gonna get ya shit together, Pop?”

  As always, Ray-Ray replied, “Tomorrow.”

  It’s always tomorrow. Cash promised his father he would come by again sometime that week and hurried back to the car.

  He drove Tyesha’s way, that pussy heavy on his mind. The day had started off wrong with his mother, but it started to get back on the right track with the conversation with his father and going to see Tyesha.

  Before noon came, Cash was knocking on Tyesha’s apartment door. She came to the door buck-naked like he’d asked.

  He smiled broadly. “Damn!”

  “I take it, you like what you see,” Tyesha replied with an engaging smile.

  “You know it.”

  Cash stepped into her apartment ready to get the party started. He was completely naked before he walked into the bedroom.

  The next three hours were pure bliss for him.

  After Tyesha’s place, it was back to his old stomping grounds where he linked up with Darrell, Manny, and Petey Jay. The group got high at Petey Jay’s place, talked shit, and cracked jokes.

  Cash bragged to them about his recent sexual tryst with Tyesha.

  “Yo, I was fuckin’ that bitch so hard with her bouncing on my lap, I almost put her fuckin’ head through the ceiling,” he said with the sexual movement, to indicate how he had her positioned on his lap.