Dollar Bill

by Joy

  “I don’t know. It looks like it’s about thirty, thirty-five thousand,” Dollar said handing the neatly stacked wads of crisp hundred dollar bills to Ral to count.

  “So that means dude bought a dozen of these bitches for around three thousand each. Shit, I know I can get between four and five Gs for one.”

  “I swear to God, Ral, if I find out you swapped that coat for a hit . . .”

  “Come on, man,” Ral said. “Give me a little bit more credit than that. I ain’t did no drugs, man. No hard shit anyway. Yeah, I might have blazed on a couple of those fat ones, but that’s it. You can ask your li’l bro. He checks my piss every time I go to the clinic. He done already warned me about the bud leading me back to more glamorous pharmaceuticals. But I’m straight. Ask him, man.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Dollar said.

  “What’s the deal with you and your bro, anyway, man?”

  “I ain’t trying to talk about my brother,” Dollar said, becoming a little uneasy. “I’m trying to talk about money.”

  Inside, Dollar wanted to talk about his brother. He wanted to ask Ral if he had asked about him. He hated the fact that he would probably never have the kind of relationship he longed for with Klein. But Dollar couldn’t let that weigh on his mind. It was impossible for him to turn back the hands of time. So for now, he decided to keep his mind on money.

  “So, what’s our next move?” Ral said as he studied the food menu at Jimmy’s Coney Island as he, Dollar, and Tommy prepared to talk shop.

  “These cats from T town—” Tommy started.

  “Toledo, Ohio,” Ral confirmed.

  “Yeah, they rolled through the bar last night. They were ballers on their way to cop some of them thangs,” Tommy said, taking a sip of her ice water.

  “What the hell some dudes from Toledo stopping off in Gary for?”

  “Making a li’l pit stop,” Tommy answered.

  “So did all that pussy up in the spot get them cats to telling they business?” Ral asked.

  “Well, I know that some dude named Ant over in T town is expecting about twenty Gs via FedEx,” Tommy said in a bragging manner, being she was the one responsible for the lead.

  “Okay, keep the info coming,” Dollar said as he listened intensely. The talk of money made Dollar’s dick hard. Contrary to popular opinion, fuck dogs; money is man’s best friend.

  “I know dude stays by a park on Hollywood and is expecting the loot next Friday,” Tommy said. “Ol’ dude was making it a point to let me know that throwing twenty at his boy wasn’t nothin’ but a thang.”

  “Showoff niggaz,” Dollar said. “These young bloods don’t know shit about the game.”

  “Oh well,” Ral said. “That’s where we benefit.”

  “Y’all know what y’all want yet?” the waitress approached their table and asked with pen and pad in hand.

  The three proceeded to order their soul food entrees and discussed their next move as they waited on their meals to be prepared. Like a game of chess, Dollar was meticulous about the moves that were to be made. He didn’t want to do too much too fast. Actually, he didn’t want to do too much at all. He wanted to hit the jackpot; some big-type stickup that would put them on easy street for a long spell. He would then turn around and invest his money in something that would pay off well enough to take care of him for life. But no amount sounded remotely enough to take care of Dollar for life. Nah, he wanted too much. He wanted to live like one of the Good Fellas, although Romeo had warned him that that type of attitude leads to downfall. But, of course, Dollar’s attitude was fuck it. He wasn’t like these Similac-drinkin’ wankstas. He would take heed of the words of the elders. He would be the exception to the game. He would win.

  Just as the waitress brought the food out to their table, through the restaurant window Dollar noticed a familiar face walking by. He never forgot a face, especially one belonging to such a beautiful body. Obviously she recognized him too, because as she entered she told the girl who she was with to grab a table while she hollered at Dollar for a minute. Dollar acted like he didn’t see her coming his way as he took a bite of his collard greens.

  “Excuse me, sir, do you have the time?” the soft-spoken voice said over Dollar’s shoulder.

  Dollar looked up, replied, “It’s time for you to get a new watch,” and continued eating his food.

  “I see you holdin’ a grudge,” she said, smiling.

  “Naw, Miss Lady,” Dollar said, cracking a smile: the “I’m that nigga” smile. “I’m just messing with you. Hennessey, right?”

  “Umm, you’re good. Yes, Hennessey Monroe,” she said, turning her attention to Tommy and Ral who were sitting across from Dollar.

  Tommy was eyeballing Hennessey from head to toe, checking out her Donna Karan casual pantsuit, Donna Karan purse, and Donna Karan casual-like flip-flops.

  “Ahem,” Tommy cleared her throat.

  “Oh,” Dollar said, “forgive me for being rude. Hennessey, this is Ral and Tommy.”

  Hennessey stuck her hand out to shake their hands. The diamonds from the five-karat tennis bracelet that appeared to be making love to her wrist nearly blinded them. Tommy really wasn’t feeling Hennessey’s presence, so she left her hand hangin’ and gave her a “what up?” nod instead. Ral’s hand was greasy from the fried chicken, but that didn’t keep him from giving Hennessey a courteous handshake.

  “Oh my,” Hennessey said as she looked disgustingly down at her greasy hand. Tommy couldn’t help but giggle.

  Dollar was embarrassed and handed her a napkin to wipe her hands. “Uhh, yeah. These are my boys,” Dollar said as Tommy kicked him underneath the table. “Well, this is Tommy, he’s a girl. I mean, she’s a girl. We’re all just friends.” Dollar was attempting to make it clear to Hennessey that Tommy was not his girlfriend.

  “Oh, very nice,” Hennessey said. “Well, I’m here with my cousin, Trini. She lives around these parts.”

  “And what part do you live around, Miss Lady?” Dollar inquired.

  “I’m over in the windy city,” Hennessey replied. “Well, I just wanted to say hey. I better go join Trini now.”

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, bye-bye,” Tommy said, rushing Hennessey off with a wave.

  “Uhh, let me walk you over to your table,” Dollar said, excusing himself and, at the same time, giving Tommy an evil look.

  “Oh, well, thank you,” Hennessey said as she turned to Tommy and Ral. “It was nice meeting both you fellas.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Ooops, I mean lady and gentleman. Take care.” She gave Tommy the same wave she’d given her.

  “Tah, tah,” Tommy said sarcastically under her breath as Dollar and Hennessey walked away. After taking a bite of macaroni and cheese she said, “I don’t like that bitch.”

  “You don’t even know that bitch,” Ral said, sucking the grease off of his fingers.

  “I know her all right. I know her kind and I don’t like her kind.”

  “What’s her kind?” Ral asked.

  “Bitch. She’s a bitch who thinks she better than everybody else. But underneath it all she’s got something to hide. I can tell she’s fake. I just hope Dollar can tell too.”

  CHAPTER 15

  This Is a Stickup

  Stickin’ up the FedEx carrier was the easiest $20,000 the trio ever made. Dollar, Ral, and Tommy drove over to Toledo on Thursday night in two separate cars and camped out on Hollywood. The park split the street, so each car manned one end of the block. There was no way they were going to miss the FedEx truck turning into the neighborhood.

  The FedEx driver didn’t put up a fight. Hell, as far as he knew, it was a set of stainless steel pots in the package and his life was worth more than that. He turned over the package with ease and even offered them all of the other packages he had in his truck waiting to be delivered.

  Dollar felt bad holdin’ up the driver. He looked like a little, young brotha tryin’ to make a living, trying to earn money for college or
something. He reminded Dollar of himself. Dollar tucked five Benjis in the FedEx guy’s uniform pocket before they dipped and apologized for the inconvenience.

  It had been over six months since Dollar was released from prison. He had been content banking his ends while living at the Y, but that got old. Dollar used his entire cut from the FedEx hit for the security deposit and first three months’ rent for some little apartment near the shore in Chicago. Dollar couldn’t believe how high rent was in Chicago. He paid three times as much for the monthly rent for his place than he had put down on Ral’s. And Ral’s place was bigger. You couldn’t compare the atmosphere though. Dollar’s bachelor pad was like his little kingdom. He fell in love with it the first time the manager showed him around. He was nervous that his application wouldn’t get approved. Although he didn’t share his criminal history on the application, he didn’t know just how extensive their background check on him would be.

  Dollar convinced Redd to nigga rig some paperwork for him stating that he had been doing work for his agency for the past three years. Dollar agreed to work for Redd on a fifty-fifty cut for an entire month in exchange for the favor.

  Dollar’s credit was clear because he didn’t have any. He concealed his felony bid from the apartment manager and spoke of how he had gone to school and graduated from The Ohio State University. It was a partial lie. He put in a few years at the state of Ohio, but it damn sure wasn’t at the university.

  Dollar bragged to the apartment manager about how he briefly played football for the university, but seriously injured himself during a practice. The injury would end his football career. The apartment manager praised Dollar for continuing his education in spite of his football letdown. As far as Dollar was concerned, doing time in the pen was like schooling. It was the school of hard knocks. He learned how to survive. No university could teach him that.

  Dollar enjoyed creating a new life for himself. He felt like Omar Tyree, the Urban Griot, making up stories, telling people what they wanted to hear. Dollar had plenty of tales and very little of the truth. He started to believe the stuff he was making up himself. Dollar’s demeanor and attitude began to change to accommodate his fables. He was on top of the world. He was about to have his game on lock. “Do it easy, easy does it,” was what Dollar had to remember. He couldn’t rush. He had to take his time and do the damn thang right, no guerilla-style type of endeavors. But while he waited on the pipe dream of living in style to manifest itself, he had to make sure he kept up his own style and appearance.

  “Damn, my nails are shiny, ain’t they?” Dollar asked Mya, the nail technician at the salon.

  “Sir, they’ll stay shiny for about two weeks,” Mya replied as she continued to massage the smooth side of the buffer over Dollar’s thumbnail. “Do you want a clear coat of polish on them? That will keep them shiny and strong for a long time.”

  “Naw, I’m straight on that, ma,” Dollar replied.

  “You ready for your pedicure, sir?” a small Asian lady said to Dollar.

  “Yes,” Dollar said, but at the same time Mya replied for him as well.

  “No,” Mya said. “I haven’t given you your hand massage yet.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. You did good.” Dollar pulled out a ten dollar bill and placed it in the palm of Mya’s hand. She clenched the tip and thanked Dollar with a stimulating smile.

  “It would have been my pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your treatment.” Mya then brushed a piece of her long, blond hair from her face and turned to the little Asian woman to say, “He’s ready.”

  “You follow me now, sir,” the Asian woman ordered Dollar.

  She led Dollar over to a small refrigerator and offered him a drink and some fruit before taking him over to the massage spa chair. She then ran water into the attached foot tub and poured some lilac-smelling powder into the water, which formed a layer of suds. She showed Dollar how to operate the massage control buttons on the chair and then pampered him with a forty-five minute pedicure that included a foot massage.

  After paying for his services, and tipping the Asian woman ten dollars as well, Dollar went on to get his head conditioned and massaged. This is how Dollar spent every other Saturday. Afterward, he would normally cop a DVD and some grub, then head back to his spot. But Dollar thought it was safe, and about time, to start finding him some hoes to keep company with.

  This Saturday night would be different. Dollar was going to find a club that was jumpin’, but not thugged out. He didn’t want to mess with the ballers’ scene. He just wanted to go somewhere where he could groove to a little bit of R&B, hip-hop with a touch of jazz, clock some hoes, and not have some ol’ jealous niggaz mean muggin’ him.

  Dollar decided to go to one of Chi-Town’s low key spots called the Art Bar and cool out. He heard it was a nice chill spot: not uppity, but not ghetto either. It was a mixed crowd.

  When Dollar arrived at the club in his black long-sleeved CK dress shirt and black CK dark dress pants, he turned every woman’s head up in the spot. And once he was out of their sight, the scent of his CK1 cologne left them with something to remember him by.

  Dollar found an empty stool at the end of the bar and hugged it all night. Honeys deliberately brushed up against him while in an attempt to get the barmaid’s attention to order a drink. This made Dollar smile, but none of the women coppin’ free feels had “it.” Some of the girls were tight, but Dollar would have rather paid for some ass than to have to listen to some gabby-ass chick talk about nothing, have to buy her a couple of drinks, and take her to the Waffle House before knowing if he even had the slightest chance of fucking her. So he decided to call it a night. He swallowed down his last taste of Hennessy and went for his wallet to leave the barmaid a tip. As he pulled his wallet out, a small body bumped into him.

  “You got that out to buy me a drink?” the owner of the small body said. “I’ll take Sex on the Beach.”

  “‘Sex on the Beach’, huh?” Dollar said.

  “Yeah, and after that you can buy me a drink.” Kera winked as she slightly stumbled. Dollar grabbed her arm, which was hanging out of her short-sleeved dark-colored Coogi dress, in order to help her balance.

  “You’re not even old enough to drink,” Dollar said, trying to help her balance. It was obvious she had had a little too much to drink already, yet here she was in Dollar’s face begging for a drink.

  “I’m old enough to do lots of stuff.” Kera giggled.

  “How did you even get up in here? You’re not even old enough to be in here,” Dollar said to her.

  “Shhhhhh,” Kera said, spraying Dollar with spittle.

  “Who you wit’?” Dollar said, standing up from the stool in authority.

  Kera looked around and replied, “See that little number over there on the dance floor in that sky blue tube dress?” Kera pointed and Dollar’s eyes found the girl she was talking about.

  “Is that who you’re with? Wait right here,” Dollar said as he stomped toward the dance floor.

  “No, wait,” Kera said, trying to grab hold of Dollar before he took off. She wasn’t quick enough though. Dollar had already walked over to the dance floor and began talking to the girl in the sky blue dress. The conversation was intense as Dollar pointed to Kera and then scolded the girl for allowing Kera to get to the drunken state she was in. The girl began to snap her neck and scold back at Dollar. This went on for a couple of minutes before Dollar returned to the bar where Kera was standing. Dollar was plum red and Kera was laughing hysterically.

  “That wasn’t cute,” Dollar said.

  “I tried to stop you,” Kera replied. “Nobody told you to race over there and play daddy.”

  Just then a tall dark-skinned girl in a red one-piece pantsuit came over, tapped Kera on the shoulder, and said, “You ready to go?”

  “Leece, this is Dollar,” Kera introduced the two. “Dollar, this is Leece, the girl I’m really here with.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Leece said before turning to whisper in Ker
a’s ear. “Girl, you were right. He is a fine-ass LL Cool J–looking muthafucka.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Leece,” Dollar said. “You don’t look old enough to be in here either.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” Leece said. “But I just turned twenty-one today.”

  “‘It’s my birthday,’” Kera sang.

  Kera and Leece continued with their version of “In Da Club” that would have made 50 Cent proud. They had everyone within ear distance shouting, “Go ’head, go ’head.”

  “That’s enough, ladies,” Dollar said as Kera and Leece high-fived one another. “I hope there is a third party with you two because neither one of you look like you’re in any condition to be leaving up out of here alone.”

  “We cool,” Leece said. “My man and his boys are up in here. We ridin’ out with them back over to Indy.”

  “How many of his boys?” Dollar asked, worried about Kera being taken advantage of in the condition she was in.

  “Oh, we straight. I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to my girl,” Leece said.

  “Oh, I can see how well you take care of your girl,” Dollar said sarcastically. “I’ll take care of little mama here.” He looked to Kera. “I’ll see to it that you get home. Do you need to get your coat from coat check or anything?”

  “No, I’m straight. Are you sure you don’t mind seeing to it that I get home?” Kera said, giving Leece a thumbs-up on the low-low. “I don’t want to put you out or anything.”

  “I’m sure,” Dollar said. “Leece, where’s your man? I want to make sure you straight too.”

  Dollar saw to it that Leece caught up with her man; then he led Kera outside of the club and immediately hailed a taxi. The taxi driver pulled over, rolled down his window, and asked Dollar, “Where to?”

  Dollar would have the driver drop him off first, then take Kera home. “Where do you stay?” Dollar asked Kera as he scooted into the taxi and held his hand out to help her in.

  “A fucking taxi,” Kera said. “You offered to see to it that I get home and you didn’t even drive your own shit. I stay all the fuckin’ way over in Gary. You gonna pay my fare?”