The House that Hustle Built, Part 1

by Nisa Santiago

  She had girls like Brandy from the Dominican Republican; Paquitta from Kingston, Jamaica; Isabelle and Gabriella, sisters from Italy; Angelina, Cassandra, Kiara, and Danielle, all from the States; and Farrah, a Bajan.

  Pearla had a new crew of friends, and she was tricking on them lovely. She loved being the boss, and she wasn’t shy when it came to treating her girls fairly and looking out for them, which included shopping sprees all over the city and fine dining in top-notch restaurants like Nobu and Philippe Chow with Pearla always picking up the tab. But her finest moment was when she took her girls on an all-expenses-paid weekend getaway to Turks and Caicos.

  Vacationing there, the girls experienced the pristine white sand beaches that bordered the breathtaking turquoise ocean. It provided an extraordinary milieu at their luxury hotel villa, and the restaurants on the island were exquisite.

  Pearla learned quickly that if you give your employees incentives then they would feel appreciated, but if you gave them too much then they’d start to feel entitled.

  ***

  Pearla almost tripped over a pile of clothes left in the hallway. “Fuck!” She knew there were only two people who could be so damn messy in her home, and she was getting fed up with it.

  Not only was Cash’s father staying with them, but so was Momma Jones. She was against it, but Cash argued her down, griping that he needed to take care of his parents. With the two of them in her home, it felt like complete chaos.

  Ray-Ray was cool, even though every night he would pass out drunk on their floor or their couch. But Momma Jones was constantly a loudmouth and utterly disrespectful toward Pearla, and the two got into loud arguments all the time. Momma Jones was secretly jealous of the gorgeous young woman and wasn’t about to play nice to someone she considered a bitch, though she was staying in her home.

  Pearla started to walk to her bedroom. The minute she got dressed, she was about to take up the issue of her home being left untidy with Cash’s parents. As she walked to her bedroom, Momma Jones’s bedroom door opened up, and a completely naked stranger exited the bedroom.

  “What the fuck?” Pearla was in complete shock.

  “Ay, what up, pretty?” the man said to her, smiling. He had no shame in his game, dick out and swinging, scratching his ass while he made his way toward the bathroom.

  Pearla was fuming. It wasn’t the first time she had woken up or arrived home to find a strange man in her house, thanks to Cash’s whore of a mom.

  “Get the fuck out my house!” Pearla shouted.

  The man gazed at her like she was retarded. “Ya house?”

  “Oh, you think I’m fuckin’ playing?” Pearla screamed out.

  She rushed to her bedroom, knowing she could show him better than she could tell him. Still wrapped in her towel, she snatched open her bedroom dresser, grabbed a snub-nose revolver, and charged back out of her room to confront the naked stranger.

  She kicked open the bathroom door and fired a shot at his ass. The bullet struck the wall behind him as he sat on her toilet trying to take a shit. She’d missed him on purpose.

  The man was suddenly terrified. “What the fuck! You crazy, bitch!” he yelled. He fell off the toilet looking traumatized.

  Pearla aimed the firearm at him again and sternly warned him to leave. She gave him five minutes. He hurried out of the bathroom, ran into Momma Jones’s bedroom, hastily grabbed all his things, and ran out of the house like it was about to collapse.

  Now that he was gone, Pearla went to confront Momma Jones. She wasn’t as scared with a gun in her face as her last trick was.

  “I told you to stop bringing these niggas into my fuckin’ house!” Pearla shouted heatedly.

  “Bitch, you better get that fuckin’ gun out my face.”

  The two got into a heated argument, but Pearla had someone for her. With Cash away in Miami, she decided to call up Poochie, who was hired so Pearla didn’t have to get her hands dirty.

  When Poochie got the call from her daughter, she rushed to her home.

  There was no time wasted between Poochie and Momma Jones. They were both hard and belligerent ladies from the streets. Poochie got into Momma Jones’s face, but Momma Jones wasn’t intimidated. Harsh words were exchanged, and a fight quickly ensued between the two ladies. It was like a hurricane clashing with a tornado. They quickly turned her living room into a mess—broken chairs, overturned furniture, and shattered glass all over the floor.

  Ray-Ray attempted to break it up, but he was overpowered and tossed around.

  It got to the point where Pearla threatened to call 9-1-1. In her neighborhood, they would have showed up in a heartbeat and arrested both women. Momma Jones and Poochie had their bruises and bloody lips, but if Pearla had to play referee then Poochie clearly out-boxed the crackhead. Although it clearly wasn’t over between them.

  When Pearla called Cash to tell him what happened, he laughed it off.

  “You actually put them two ladies in one room together?” he said, teasing.

  “It’s not fuckin’ funny, Cash. Your mother needs to go now before I kill that bitch!”

  “A’ight, baby, when I get home, I’ll handle it.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “The day after tomorrow. I still got some more business to handle, and then I’m on the first flight back to New York.”

  “Hurry up, baby. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  After getting off the phone, Pearla looked deep in thought about something. Did he go down there just for business, or did he mix some pleasure in it too? She already had to kill one bitch because of Cash’s infidelity. The next time around, she would kill him and the bitch he was with. She hated when niggas fucked with her heart, because she was a loyal bitch. Cash was her heart, so she had no reason to creep out on a nigga. If she didn’t do it with Hassan while Cash was locked down, she wasn’t about to do it now. She wanted the same respect and loyalty she constantly showed her man.

  twenty-Six

  Cash landed in JFK Airport Monday afternoon, strolled out of the terminal with his carry-on, and quickly caught an idling cab outside. It was freezing cold in New York. The temperature was a shivering twenty-five degrees with snow predicted later that night. Cash went from sunshine to frostbite. He so badly wanted to jump back on the plane and fly down to Miami, but his queen was calling, and he needed to see what was going on.

  Wrapped snugly in his winter coat, ski hat, and Timberlands, he jumped into the backseat of a yellow cab, told the driver, “Jamaica Estates,” and then closed his eyes and thought about what Petey Jay had been calling him about since he’d been in Miami. For more than a week now, Petey Jay had been in his ear about selling cocaine. Petey Jay was sure they could make a boat-load of money. The idea caught Cash’s attention.

  What he had going on down in Miami was good, but learning from the best, his queen Pearla, Cash knew to never have all his eggs in one basket and to put his hands into other money-making areas as well.

  As he was being driven to his home, he got on his cell phone and dialed Petey Jay’s number. It’d been months since he’d hung out with his former crew. Things done changed. He got rich, they didn’t. There was some tension between his crew, but when it came to money, Cash was listening. He wanted to help out his friends, because his conscience was on his back, and Petey Jay had always looked out for him.

  “What’s good, Cash?” Petey Jay answered.

  “I’m back in New York. Let’s link up.”

  “When and where?”

  “Tonight. I’ll come by your place so we can talk.”

  “A’ight, my nigga,” Petey Jay said coolly. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Cash hung up. The first thing he wanted to do was get some sleep and then handle his business. He was exhausted. Jetlag was killing him, though he was still in the same time zone.

&
nbsp; When he arrived home, Momma Jones wasn’t there, Ray-Ray was sleeping on the couch, and Pearla was in their bedroom.

  Hearing the door shut downstairs, Pearla immediately knew it was Cash arriving home. She hurried down the stairs to be with him. Seeing Cash, she lit up like Con Edison. She ran over and leaped into his arms, yelling out, “I missed you, baby!”

  Cash held her in his arms as she straddled him. Sometimes, Pearla could be like a big kid, playing around and sounding girlie on him. They kissed passionately.

  Cash felt on her booty and said, “I’m so tired, baby.” He carried her upstairs into the bedroom and undressed.

  Pearla missed everything about him, from his humorous personality, to his hardcore sex. She was longing for some dick inside of her.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention, I gotta run out tonight, handle some business,” he said.

  “Tonight? But you just got back, baby.”

  “I know, but this is important. Money never stops. Right, babe?”

  She smiled. “Right.”

  They kissed again. Pearla didn’t hesitate to take his dick into her mouth. He got thicker and harder in her mouth, fucking her mouth more, until the head of his penis was pounding her throat.

  Cash moaned. It was the best welcome-home greeting. He laid back and allowed Pearla to do her thing. The way she sucked his dick was a pure indication of how much she missed him. Her sex put him to sleep a half-hour after his arrival.

  While Cash was in la-la land, Pearla carefully went through his things to find out if her man was doing dirt down in Miami, but she didn’t find anything. Either he was being true to her, or he was careful at covering his tracks.

  ***

  After five hours of sleep, Cash was over at Petey Jay’s place to talk about business. He walked inside his friend’s apartment with his Rolex and diamond pinky ring shimmering like sunlight was in the room. It was only the two of them.

  “I see you shining, my nigga,” Petey Jay said, his eyes fixated on his friend’s jewelry.

  “You know I’m tryin’ to do my thang.”

  “Shit. My nigga, we all tryin’ to eat. You feel me?”

  “I feel you.”

  “Then let’s talk,” Petey Jay said.

  Cash took a seat and popped open a beer while Petey Jay went into talking about the drug business. Petey Jay needed Cash to become his financial backer for the first batch of cocaine he wanted to purchase from some Colombians out of Washington Heights.

  “I got this connect, Cash, and they legit.”

  “How legit? And how well you know these people, Petey Jay?”

  “Well enough to know they making a shitload of money, and I wouldn’t be talkin’ to you about this if I wasn’t sure, Cash. But I’m so sure about this deal, I bet my kids’ life.”

  Cash grasped that Petey Jay loved his kids and would never put them on the line if he wasn’t super sure about it all.

  “You don’t even have to get your hands dirty, Cash. All you need to do is supply the paper, and I’m the only one you’ll have to deal wit’, while me, Darrell, and Manny do everything else.”

  “How much you talkin’ about?”

  “About three hundred and seventy thousand.”

  Cash whistled at the estimate. “That’s a lot of money, Petey Jay.”

  “I know, but think about the return that will come your way when we flip these birds and start making major moves, my nigga. I promise you five hundred thousand which includes interest within ninety days.”

  Cash sat back against the couch leery about it all. Three hundred and seventy thousand dollars was a lot of money to give out, even when it came to a drug deal. But the opportunity to make a huge profit without risking his own safety was tantalizing.

  Cash looked at his friend, took a deep breath, and said, “A’ight, I’m in.”

  “My nigga,” Petey Jay responded excitedly, glad-handing with Cash.

  “But, Petey Jay, don’t fuck me on this,” Cash said in a stern tone. “I’m trusting you wit’ a lot of fuckin’ money.”

  “You my nigga, Cash, and believe me, I ain’t gonna burn you.”

  The next day, while Pearla was out on business, Cash almost emptied out all of their money from their concealed safe in the bedroom of their home.

  twenty-Seven

  Cash and Pearla were spending money like it was water. Whatever money could buy, they had it. Wherever money could take them, they went, and whoever it could corrupt, they corrupted. Growing up, they’d never had it like that, and since they didn’t work hard for it, they didn’t have a clue what money management or saving for a rainy day meant. With the escort and green card marriage business, the stolen cars in Miami, and a few minor investments, how could the money stop?

  The sudden letter from the IRS was the start of a storm coming the couple’s way. Pearla was being audited. She had no idea why. The IRS was going to audit her income for the past three years. She’d never filed taxes. It was a stupid mistake, and she was bugging out.

  How could this happen?

  She stared at the letter over and over again. They were coming for her. She looked to her moms and even Cash for help or support, but they were stumped too. No one had any answers as to why the IRS had a sudden interest in her.

  There was a number she could call, and she called it. A man answered, and Pearla bombarded him with many questions about the letter she’d received in the mail.

  “Why the fuck did I get this letter? Why am I being audited? What the fuck is going on?” she said through the phone.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the IRS employee composedly said to her.

  Pearla took a deep breath.

  “Now, I need your name and social security number,” he said.

  Pearla gave her name and social security number. She could hear the man stroking the keys to the keyboard.

  “Well, listen, our records show you haven’t paid any taxes at all, and that you have assets but no reporting income.”

  “What? So what does that mean? Why the fuck y’all in my business?”

  “Ma’am, you can’t be that naïve,” he returned rudely.

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “It will behoove you to follow the instructions in the letter and come as scheduled. Ma’am, don’t make it worse for yourself.”

  “Fuck you very much!” Pearla cursed loudly and hung up.

  The phone call spooked her. She looked at the letter again and read it aloud, “Your rights during an audit: A right to a professional and courteous treatment by IRS employees.”

  The man she spoken with was a direct contrast to that.

  “A right to privacy and confidentiality about tax matters;

  A right to know why the IRS is asking for information, how the IRS will use it, and what will happen if the requested information is not provided;

  A right to representation, by oneself or an authorized representative;

  A right to appeal disagreements, both within the IRS and before the courts.”

  Pearla focused on the last one. Hell yeah, she wanted appeal it, because she disagreed with it completely.

  Pearla looked stressed for a moment. Cash wrapped his arms around her. “Listen, don’t worry about it. You’re smart, baby, and there’s always a way around something. We’re gonna figure it out.”

  She broke into a smile, pushing the anxiety to the back of her mind.

  ***

  With all that was going on, Cash decided to take his woman out to dinner at a nice, Manhattan restaurant. They decided to go to Eleven Madison Park, the restaurant bearing the name of its address. It was an elegant place with two balcony-level private dining rooms overlooking the main dining room, and offering a picturesque view of Madison Square Park through floor-to-ceiling windows. They were dressed to the nin
es and enjoying what life had to offer them.

  Cash and Pearla both had the New York strip with Kinkead’s scotch whisky sauce and two glasses of Pinot noir. The food was delicious. They sat by the wall-to-ceiling windows and took in a wintry view of the park.

  Cash wanted Pearla to forget about her troubles with the IRS, so he figured a beautiful night out in the city would help. He owed it to her. For weeks, they’d been so busy.

  For a moment, they talked and laughed.

  Then Pearla gazed at Cash like he had a disease. They had been together going on nine months and it felt like a lifetime for her. She sat her glass down in front of her and continued looking at her man. She then held up her left hand and showed him the diamond engagement ring, something he’d seen so many times.

  “You see this?” she said, referring to her ring. “This means a lot to me, Cash. Even though I bought it myself, it’s a symbol of our love.”

  “I know, babe,” Cash blurted out.

  “Do you?”

  “I love you, Pearla. I never loved a woman like I love you, babe. What we built together, what we created, this is only the beginning.”

  “It is.”

  Pearla took another sip of wine and then suddenly confessed to him about killing Jamie. “She was my friend. But I killed her because I was jealous. I was thinking that she was going to take you away from me.

  “I stalked her, and then got her when she was alone and vulnerable, and when I plunged that knife into her stomach, I felt relieved, because she was no longer a threat to me . . . to us and our relationship. I killed her because I love you so much.”

  Cash looked around to see if anyone was listening, or eavesdropping on their conversation, but no one was. It was like she was looking to get caught by confessing to him so suddenly in a public place.

  “You did what you had to do,” he coldly replied.

  Cash wanted their past to stay the past. Bringing up Jamie’s death was risky. He killed, she killed, and their bond was solidified with deadly secrets. He loved her, and with Pearla by his side, he felt they could do anything, achieve anything.

  “I don’t want to ever feel like that again, Cash. I don’t want to share you with anyone. Do you understand me?” Pearla said in a stern tone.