The House that Hustle Built, Part 1

by Nisa Santiago

  “That you bought yourself, you stupid bitch!”

  “You fraud, bitch! I’ma see you, Jamie. Shit ain’t over; that’s my word.”

  Pearla was ready to charge at her again. She didn’t want it to be over, but she was being forced back by some young nigga she barely knew. She was so upset, she was ready to fight him.

  Pearla got into her car still fuming. She wanted to rip Jamie’s head off. It was only the beginning.

  For the next couple of weeks, Jamie ran with her new crew trying to taunt Pearla. Word had gotten back to Pearla that Jamie had visited Cash a few times in Rikers, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when Jamie got Cash’s name tattooed on her forearm with a heart. It drove Pearla insane.

  ***

  Pearla had never thought of herself as a killer, but blind rage and jealousy was catapulting her into a whole new level. She couldn’t see her man being with anybody else.

  She sat in the middle of the night, watching the building. Pearla was watching Jamie’s every move, studying her routine. It was quiet, the area sparse with foot and vehicular traffic.

  Pearla waited over two hours, the large kitchen knife beside her as she contemplated doing the unthinkable. Every minute that passed, every hour, her thoughts became more contorted. Thinking about Cash sticking his dick into Jamie was driving her nuts. She was seething with so many emotions, from jealousy to rage to insecurity. Jamie had a better body than her, tits and ass for days. She knew Cash loved her friend’s body. What if Cash does leave me to be with her?

  It was two in the morning when a pair of headlights drove up. The Infiniti came to a stop in front of Jamie’s building. The passenger door opened up, and Jamie stepped out in her high heels and short skirt, looking like she was coming home from a date. Pearla watched her closely.

  Jamie, smiling and laughing, kissed the driver good-bye. She shut the door and strutted toward her building. She appeared a bit tipsy, stumbling a little bit to the lobby.

  As the truck drove off, Pearla opened her door and got out, the kitchen knife gripped tightly in her hand. The area was dark, quiet, and still. With nobody around, it was the perfect opportunity to kill someone.

  Pearla came out of the shadows and hurried into the building and arrived inside just in time to see Jamie stepping into the elevator. She rushed toward it before the doors closed. The minute she joined Jamie inside the elevator, before the doors could close, she plunged the knife into her flesh, catching her off guard.

  Jamie jolted from the sharp blow into her stomach, feeling the kitchen knife wedged deep inside her gut. She looked at Pearla wide-eyed.

  Pearla pulled out the knife and plunged it into Jamie repeatedly. She could feel her slowly dying. The body dropped before her feet just as the elevator came to a stop on the fourth floor.

  There was no one around. Pearla still had her chance to make it look like a robbery turned assault. Before she fled the scene, she ripped off Jamie’s jewels and snatched her purse.

  Leaving her friend’s body dead inside the elevator, Pearla raced out of the building, taking the stairway and hurrying to her car. Being smart, she’d worn latex gloves during the crime and wore a baseball cap and dark baggy clothing, making it look like she was a black male. She believed she had gotten away with murder. Once home, she was going to burn everything and dispose of the knife in the Atlantic Ocean. No evidence, no jail.

  Twenty-One

  Cash lay quietly on his cot, looking up at the ceiling. He had heard the news that Jamie was murdered. He couldn’t believe it. One of his little homies from around the way had relayed the news back to him while they were in the dayroom watching television. When Cash had heard, he simply got up and left the room, going to his cell to be alone. He didn’t cry, because Jamie was just a piece of ass to him, but he knew who’d done it. He felt responsible for getting her killed. He’d fucked up and told on himself.

  He shook his head and knew to never bring it up around Pearla. She had dirt on him, and he had dirt on her—they both were killers now. But loyalty was what he went by, and he was no snitch. He figured his girl to be crazy, but he still loved her. She killed someone because she was in love with him. He drove her to it. Now, all he could do was reflect on the incident.

  ***

  Ponce Funeral Home on Atlantic Avenue was crowded like a rap concert. It seemed like everyone from the neighborhood came out to attend Jamie’s home-going service. She was a popular girl and well liked, and everyone was devastated by her brutal murder. The news had hit everyone like a really bad dream. She was stabbed four times and robbed. People were saying a crackhead or heroin addict murdered her. Everyone was angry and wanted justice. Detectives were investigating every angle.

  Pearla pulled up to the funeral home alone. Dressed in all black, she got out of her Benz wearing dark sunglasses, ready to put on a performance. She was sad and disheartened, though she was the one who’d killed Jamie.

  ***

  Detectives Jones and Miller, black cops in their mid-forties and veterans on the police force, had come knocking on her door with questions. Word had gotten out to them about her recent beef with Jamie, and they knew about the fight and the threats.

  Pearla kept her cool. She talked to them with tears in her eyes, showing she was shocked and distraught about Jamie’s death. They asked her the usual questions—Where was she on the night of the murder? She told them home, and she had her cousin willing to support her alibi.

  They asked about her fight with Jamie. Pearla was honest and said it was over Jamie fucking her boyfriend. They continued questioning her, but she didn’t crack. She answered all the detectives’ questions like a professional liar. They didn’t have any proof that she’d done it, so they went on their way with no new leads at all.

  ***

  Pearla walked into the funeral home, and everyone she knew was there. She greeted a few friends, talked, and showed her sorrow. She didn’t see Roark at the funeral. Pearla wondered why she wasn’t there, but she didn’t dwell on it. She walked into the room where Jamie’s body was displayed in an open casket and broke down crying.

  She then had the boldness to comfort Jamie’s mother and sister seated in the front pew. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tearing up again.

  Jamie’s mother held Pearla in her arms and cried too. She said to Pearla, “No matter if y’all were beefing or not, my daughter loved you like a sister, and y’all will always be close. I knew y’all beef wouldn’t last long.”

  “I know. I’m gonna miss her so much.”

  “We all will.”

  Pearla showed out. Her tears were real, and so was her heartache. She had a hard time looking at Jamie lying in the cherry wood casket, dressed immaculately in a white dress. It was the perfect outfit for her funeral. She was as stylish in death as she was in life. The casket was inundated with flowers and pictures of a very beautiful woman, from adolescent to present. The family went all out for Jamie’s funeral.

  Pearla lingered around the family for a moment, and then she couldn’t take it any longer. She gave her condolences and departed before the pastor got behind the podium to deliver the eulogy.

  She jumped into her Benz and sped away. Too much was on her mind. Cash was coming home in a few weeks, and she felt undecided about it. He’d caused her to kill her best friend. She sped down Atlantic Avenue doing fifty and running through a red light like she was looking to get pulled over.

  The tears welled up in her red, puffy eyes. She was really crying. She needed a momentary escape, somewhere far, to get her mind right.

  A half-hour later, she pulled up to a lounge on Bedford Avenue and got out. The place was busy, packed with people mingling, drinking, and having a good time. She entered the place and caught a few looks. Pearla went straight for the bar and ordered some Pinot noir and sat at the counter, lost in thought.

  After five minutes at the l
ounge, she heard someone standing closely behind her say, “You need some company, beautiful?”

  Pearla was ready to tell him, “Fuck off!” but when she turned and saw it was Hassan, she was speechless. He was smiling her way, looking finer than ever in a black shirt that hugged his muscular physique and True Religion jeans.

  “Hassan!”

  “I’m glad to know you still remembered my name,” he said coolly.

  It was a shock to see him again, especially since she’d stopped there on impulse. Once again, Pearla couldn’t help but think—Did she make a poor choice cutting off Hassan for Cash? He had more money and more class to him than Cash, but her heart wouldn’t let Cash go.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “You can.”

  He moved closer to her, brushing against her skin exposed by the black sleeveless dress she wore. He smelled so good. He called over the bartender and said to him, “Whatever she’s drinking, it’s on me.”

  The bartender nodded, and Pearla ordered another glass of Pinot noir.

  Hassan pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills, placed a fifty on the bar top, and sat close to her. “So can I ask you a question?”

  “You can.”

  “Why him over me?”

  She smiled. “Are you jealous?”

  “Honestly, I am.”

  “I heard you and Cash been competing against each other since grade school.”

  “The nigga doesn’t have anything on me. I’m a Bentley, he’s a Ford.”

  Pearla laughed. “It’s always a who-has-the-bigger-dick contest.”

  “I really liked you, Pearla,” Hassan said, the flame in his eyes burning heavily for her.

  “You did?”

  “I still do. I heard your boy is doing a few months on Rikers.”

  “The streets talk, huh?”

  “Like Wendy Williams.”

  She chuckled and took a sip from her drink. The wine was smooth, but Hassan was even smoother. She gazed into his beautiful, dark eyes and was lost in his humorous and intellectual personality. She had a kingpin vying for her attention, and he was able to shower her with diamonds and gold. Still, she couldn’t leave Cash—she loved him—but could she get even.

  Hassan was sweet-talking in her ear, yearning to take her home with him. He made it clear to her, saying, “I wanna be with you tonight.”

  Pearla took a deep breath and drank more wine, entertaining the proposition.

  Hassan placed his hand against her thigh while seated on the bar stool.

  Pearla hadn’t had dick in months, and her kitty cat needed playing with. With so much on her mind, she needed to exhale and release. She’d killed her best friend, smacked Roark around, her man cheated on her with her best friend, and she was sexually frustrated. Couldn’t she have her fun, if only for one night?

  She looked Hassan in his eyes. “I can’t.”

  He was surprised by her response.

  “I love him too much,” she confessed.

  “You do, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “Even though that nigga cheated on you with your best friend?”

  Word had definitely gotten out. Cash had embarrassed her. She was becoming the talk of the town with his affair with Jamie, and now people were thinking she had lost her mind over that nigga.

  “Maybe in a next life.” Hassan politely excused himself.

  “Maybe.”

  Pearla downed the rest of her drink and left the lounge. It had been a trying day. She got into the car and cried. Thinking about Cash coming home in a few weeks made her break down emotionally. She hadn’t seen him since he admitted his infidelity with Jamie. The first thing she wanted to do when he got out was smack him as hard as she could and beat his ass. Then she wanted to fuck the shit out of him so he wouldn’t even dream about cheating on her again.

  Twenty-Two

  Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!” Cash hollered lively as he stepped out of Rikers Island a free man.

  Everyone looked at him. Cash didn’t care who he offended or what people thought about him. He couldn’t control himself. He felt like a bolt of energy, charged and ready to get live like a Jeezy concert. He felt good. There was so much to do, and he didn’t know where to start. He jumped on the Rikers Island bus and expected Pearla to be across the bridge waiting for him in the parking lot.

  The first thing on Cash’s mind was pussy. It’d been a long, long six months, and he looked to jerking off to please himself and bust a nut. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the real thing. He was just hoping his girl wasn’t still too upset about him and Jamie.

  The cool October air made him realize how long he’d been inside. The leaves were changing colors. He’d missed out on the entire summer.

  He rode in the back of the bus, thinking about his options. Being locked up was supposed to rehabilitate someone; make them learn their lesson and not do the crime again. Cash was the same criminal. He was ready to get back into action, being extra careful this time. Inside, he’d made some good connects that put him on how to get the cars he needed.

  “Miami,” Pablo had said to him.

  “Miami?” Cash repeated.

  “Miami, my friend. It’s sweet down there. Business is good. There are a string of luxury cars all around for the easy pickings, not like New York. It’s more relaxed down there, the weather is better, and with the right technique, you can come off good.”

  Pablo became a good friend to Cash. He was from Cuba, born and raised in Miami, and got knocked for cocaine possession in New York. He was looking at five years mandatory, but he still had his connections down in South Beach. He was handsome and suave, but behind the brown eyes and nice smile, it was easy to tell he was a gangster. He took a liking to Cash. Cash made him laugh, and they looked out for each other in jail.

  Cash was ready to step up and make something happen for himself. Pearla was coming up, and he needed to come up right beside his baby. It would look bad if he didn’t and was falling behind. Would she leave him if he couldn’t pull his weight in the relationship?

  The bus crossed over the Rikers Island Bridge and came to the first bus stop at the civilian parking lot. Cash stared out the window searching for his girlfriend. He yearned to see her again, grab her petite figure in his arms, kiss her passionately, and have some privacy with her.

  He smiled seeing Pearla standing by her new S-Class Benz, looking like she was ready to model for a photo shoot. Clad in tight Balmain moto jeans, Prada wedge heels, and a butter-soft leather jacket, she looked beautiful.

  “Oh shit!” he uttered. He was ready to leap off the bus and run toward her like a kid running to the gifts under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. He was that excited.

  The bus came to a stop, and Cash sprung off of it like a gazelle and moved in Pearla’s direction. She smiled.

  He smiled wider. “There go my baby,” he hollered. He grabbed Pearla in his arms, hugged her enthusiastically, then swung her around in the parking lot.

  While they kissed fervently, Cash ran his hands all over her body, squeezing her ass and ready to fondle her tits, not caring who was watching. He made it known that he wanted some ASAP.

  “I want you so fuckin’ bad right now,” he whispered into her ear.

  She giggled.

  Cash had something to prove. He’d been in the shithouse ever since he’d come clean about Jamie.

  Before he got into her Benz, he said, “Damn, baby! I see you been doin’ big things since I’ve been locked down, huh? I like this.” He moved his hand against the hood of the car and smiled like it was his.

  When he climbed inside, he was even more impressed with the interior and dashboard. He couldn’t wait to drive it. Cars like these turned him on. If he could, he was ready to fuck Pearla in the backseat and
bless the car his own way.

  During the drive home, he mentioned Miami to Pearla. He told her about his new friend Pablo and his new connect in South Beach.

  “That is kind of far.”

  “When it comes to gettin’ that paper, ain’t no such thing as far.”

  “It’s simple, baby. From what Pablo has been telling me, the dealerships down there have high-end cars out on the lots with only a chain keeping the riffraff out. I mean, cars are wide open down there. So I go to the dealership and convince the salesperson I’m legit, I can afford any car on the lot. I take it for a test-drive and, in the process, switch the real key. Later that night, I come back with the keys and drive the car off the lot.”

  Cash made it sound so simple. He was positive he could pull it off, but Pearla wasn’t so sure. There had to be a catch.

  He continued talking about the hustle.

  Pearla had to trust her man, but she didn’t want to see him get locked up again, especially in a different state. All she could say to him was, “Just be careful, baby. Florida is a whole new state. Different ball game.”

  “I know, babe, and I will.”

  Pearla raced her S-Class to their Brooklyn home. She had a nice surprise waiting for him once he walked through the doors of her expensive Brooklyn Heights home. Did he deserve it? Probably not. But she was loyal to her man and believed in giving him a second chance.

  There was nothing like being home, and Pearla went all out for her man being released. Spread out on the living room couch was high-end clothing and over a dozen shoeboxes. She’d gone on a shopping spree and spent five grand shopping for him, so when he came home, he wouldn’t look like a bum.

  Cash smiled at the clothing and sneakers. He pulled Pearla into his arms, her back toward him, and couldn’t resist filling his hands with her breasts and kissing her lovingly. “You’re the best, baby,” he said.

  “And don’t you ever forget.”

  Cash knew not to fuck with Pearla. He done seen the beast come out of her on a few occasions and knew she was nobody to play with. Her petite frame and prettiness had a lot of bitches and niggas fooled. She was gangster, and a stone-cold killer. Hearing how Jamie was murdered, it was hard to believe a woman like Pearla could pull it off.