The Legend of Johnny Hustle: The Come Up

by Zach Tate

  Yoda said, “No. Cashmere will be there. It’s the summer, so he’ll have the all white outfits on a smash.”

  “Please, please Miss thang, how much he spending so we can get him something before it’s too late,” Marcy added.

  “Seven small, and it look like he wears a size ten,” Yoda guessed correctly.

  Elexus whispered, “You know what they say about men with small feet?” He held his manicured fore finger and thumb together and said, “Incy-wincy.”

  “Girl, come on. We got money to make. We’ll see you two up at the penthouse in two,” Marcy announced while pulling away his partner away, to my relief.

  For two hours, Yoda gave me the drill on what he felt life was all about and how hustling applied to all facets of it. He quizzed me about who I was, and I quizzed him. By the time our talk was over, I could tell that he missed giving his wisdom to a receptive student. After a few hours of talking, I felt like I knew him my whole life. Just when we were getting comfortable, the phone rang and it was obvious who was coming up. Since the service elevator was the only one that went to the penthouse, the Asians in the lobby called in advance.

  Marcy and Elexus strutted into Yoda’s penthouse with a huge Lord & Taylor bag. They revealed a silk, sky-blue Hugo Boss suit, and a sky-blue Ralph Lauren button-down shirt that had a white collar and cuffs. At the bottom of the bag was a pair of sky blue, suede, Donald J. Pliner shoes with a suede white belt to match. As they removed the clip-on alarms from the clothes, I scanned the price tags. In that one bag they had over $2,000 in merchandise. I never wore clothes that expensive before. I was afraid to touch them.

  Marcy said, “Take your clothes off.”

  All my fear went out the window when I heard that. I wasn’t tolerating getting hit on by another man. Doing business with them was one thing, revealing my birthday suit was another.

  After the three of them saw my body language, Yoda asked, “How they gonna tell if the clothes fit if you don’t try them on?” He smacked his forehead then said, “Damn, I got a lot of work on my hands.”

  I felt stupid, but I jumped into my macho bag. I took my old clothes off and ice-grilled the queers as I tried on the new ones. The two queers ordered me on top of a chair while they altered the outfit. After their altering, Yoda paid them, and they left to take my new clothes to the cleaners for sewing.

  During our wait, Yoda took a nap, and I fell out on his couch. Hours later, room service dropped my outfit off. Yoda ordered food, and we ate. Later that night he called a car service from Harlem to pick us up. When the clock struck one, we were set. The mood was right. I was on my way to meeting my colleagues in the life of crime.

  3

  Reception

  It was my first night in the underworld, and I stepped out styling. I was clean. We had barely stepped out of Yoda’s building, and he was already reminding me that I received a privilege I hadn’t earned. Usually, something like that would have disturbed me, but I was so filled with anticipation that nothing could have made my night go wrong. I was on my way to mingle with the greatest hustlers of New York City. Before the night was over, I planned on getting as much street smarts as I could. I closed my eyes, felt the cool night air, and imagined myself as the ultimate hustler.

  The crunch of Yoda’s ostrich shoes hitting the pavement pulled me from my daydream. He wore a pair of light ostrich-skinned pants and a tan silk shirt, with the print of two ostriches on it, along with a white silk scarf draped around his neck. His hair gleamed. He wore a pair of designer glasses, adding to his mystique, and used a walking cane that made him look royal. Yoda was flawless. With my good looks, and the company of a man with such taste, I was sure to make a good impression on the hustling community.

  “Did you order a limo to pick us up?” I asked in ignorance.

  “Limo?” came from Yoda with a bit of annoyance. “Cuz, I called Touch of Class in Harlem. The Hemsley is right up the block. We should have walked.”

  “Oh, so then…”

  “BEEP-BEEP” a White Lincoln Town Car cut off the silly response I attempted to make.

  I held the back door open for Yoda, and then sat next to him. Once the door closed, he said, “Roger, this is Johnny Hustle.” He turned his handsome face to me. “Johnny, show the man you got manners.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I blurted out. I had too many thoughts of the upcoming night’s events racing through my head.

  “Pull out one large and fold it up real good,” Yoda instructed. He handed me a pen, paper, and rubber band. “Put your new handle on that there sheet a paper. Roll it up in the rubber band, then put it in your pocket.”

  After a five-minute ride, the car stopped at the enormous entrance of the Hemsley Palace. Looking at the different types of foreign cars pulling up to the venue, my eyes were filled with envy. I was sure the guests outside my window was going to another event. The drivers and the passengers in the stretch limousines were Black hustlers. Paparazzi were in front of the Hemsley Palace clicking away like we were celebrities. I hit the big time.

  I was caught up in the hype until Yoda said, “Now listen, be yourself when you get in there. You gonna see some crazy things tonight, but stay honest with yourself. If anybody ask, you tell them you with me. Also, when you step out of this car, come on around to my side and let me out. Tonight you learn the method of observation. Whatever you do, do not leave your drinks, woman, or pockets unoccupied at anytime while you in here. Now let’s show these boys who the master is.”

  Yoda stepped out of the car and the loitering crowd of hustlers responded with applause. Some of the most gorgeous, jewelry-clad, women in the world called out to us. Others came over, humbly bowed to him, and then kissed his ring. Many of the polished hustlers looked wealthier than Yoda, but they bowed to him.

  We bopped down the red carpet, side by side through the expansive décor of the Hemsley Palace. Two half-naked women escorted us to a dining hall. A topless, White woman in a thong, with a diamond-studded dog collar around her thin neck, met us at the entrance. She held a large, black, velvet bag that was the size of a pillowcase. Each hustler that walked by dropped a stack of cash into it. Directly behind her was a gorilla in a tux. The man’s dark features, menacing toothless face and nappy head declared him as security.

  Yoda dropped his stack of money in the bag, and then motion me to drop my stack, which added to the bag’s huge bulge. In the massive banquet hall a table at the front of the stage awaited us. As we strolled, the spotlight shined directly down on us. On stage, a long table was covered with a white tablecloth. Looking from one beautiful woman to the next, the inviting aroma of roast beef and collard greens competed for my attention. To an outsider like me, the scene looked like a fundraiser for a presidential candidate. My neck ached after twisting it to see the spectacle of hustlers.

  On stage, at the middle of the long table, a round, red faced, Black man, with a mole under his nostril sat like he was royalty. He looked to be around 40 years old. His close cut red hair, beady eyes, and deep lines etched above his lips were remnants of a hard life. A diamond encrusted crown sat uncomfortably on his round head. He was dressed immaculately in a rust colored business suit. Next to him sat an unattractive, extremely dark, tall woman who was worshipped by the hustlers who sat beside them.

  My eyes scanned the room again. People of different races, nationalities, and ethnic backgrounds were immaculately dressed. Seeing and hearing a man with a Yarmulke, and long curls down the side of his face, talk like a Black man let me know that things were not what they seemed.

  “Ding-ding-ding,” the sterling silver fork chimed against the Waterford crystal. The stranger with the crown on his head stood. Instantly, the crowd fell silent, demonstrating the level of respect he commanded.

  “I want to thank you all for coming down to my birthday, and our annual convention. I am—Money Russ.” Half of the crowd gleefully cheered. “If you don’t know who I am, then your scheming ass don’t need to be up in here.” The
crowd exploded in laughter. The man stood a little taller when his horse voice said, “It’s been a privilege, an honor, and awhile since I been king of the square, and this year it was more than easy. I’m here ‘cause I got every hustle down pack, and ain’t afraid to go high, or low to prove it. I’m here ‘cause I cleared eight figures after two scams and a big back blow off. And for those who don’t know, I can take it from a granny game, to a pocket sting, and back up to a real estate rip off. My stroll sense is impeccable, and this is a just few reasons why I’m king.”

  The crowd applauded and cheered. Unfamiliar with Money Russ’ vernacular, I looked over at Yoda, who sat, legs crossed with an intense look in his eyes. Yoda studied Money Russ as he tooted his own horn. The crowd continued to cheer until the king continued with, “But I got bad news. I’m ready to square up.” The crowd starting booing.

  A woman yelled, “Don’t do it, Money Russ!”

  “I might just have to, Sugar; ain’t no competition no more,” he responded then saluted the crowd. “So, happy birthday to me. Eat, drink, and hustle hard. If you can’t be good, then be good at it. Now, as is the custom, is there anyone in this audience that wants to put up a challenge for the kingdom? I’m sure no one out there is fool enough to play they self, but put on the spotlight and let’s see what we got.”

  A hush came over the crowd. You could hear a mouse piss on cotton. I expected Yoda to stand up, but he sat in his seat fuming. When I looked around, I found only one man standing.

  The king said, “Well my protégé, Green Eyes, done stepped up to the plate like he suppose to.” He shaded his eyes with his hand while looking out into the crowd. “Don’t be afraid. Anyone else out there got some heart?”

  In the back of the dining hall, at the last table, a young White man in an outrageous polychromatic outfit, stood. Money Russ looked down on the older White man, who was seated next to the youngster who stood, and asked, “Vanilla, I see your protégé Casper done stepped up?”

  Vanilla lifted his glass to acknowledge the challenge. When the spotlight searched the crowd, no one else rose to the occasion. I looked over to Yoda wondering why he didn’t stand. I then looked over to Brave Dave, but he was busy talking to the gorgeous women who were snorting cocaine with him.

  Money Russ started laughing. “Yeah, looks like I’m gone stay the king forever.” Money Russ pointed his glass towards Yoda and the spotlight beamed down on my mentor. “I guess some of these old hustlers just ain’t got what it takes no more.”

  All of the hustlers on stage laughed at Yoda while the ones who respected him remained silent. Fuming, Yoda tapped his walking stick.

  “Okay, the challenge going once,” Money Russ declared.

  Yoda needed to be represented.

  “Going twice,” he said and celebrated by gulping his champagne down.

  I looked over at Yoda, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off of Money Russ. Based on the love he showed me in one day, I wanted to defend him.

  Money Russ lifted his glass over his head. “Okay now, ain’t no serious contenders up for the—”

  “Right here!” I announced to the disbelief of myself and everyone at the event. Then I rose from my seat like it was on fire.

  “And who the hell is this handsome man that done stepped up to attack the crown?” Money Russ asked, looking down on me.

  The spotlight shone on my face. When I looked down to Yoda, he looked up at me from the corner of his eyes. “Cuz, sit your fool ass down before you destroy my name,” he said through clinched teeth.

  “So who are you stranger? I don’t know you, and if I don’t know you, then you ain’t nobody on the square. Who you come here with?” Money Russ asked.

  This was my chance to finally gain respect from those who really mattered. With all the confidence I could muster, I cleared my quivering throat and announced, “John—Johnny Hustle.”

  Money Russ’ eyes blinked faster than a strobe light. “Johnny Hustle? Boy with a name like that you deserve to be king.” The crowd laughed. “But things don’t work that way. Now tell me who you rolling with?”

  Again I looked down at Yoda. He stared straight ahead, annoyed. I didn’t know if I should say his name or Dave’s, so I said, “I’m rolling with me, and I’m the protégé of Yoda.” A hush fell over the crowd and all the hustlers started mumbling to each other.

  Russ spit out his champagne to stop himself from choking. “Yo—Yo—Yoda? Did you say Yoda?” he asked in shock. “Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me?” He looked down on Yoda, and the spotlight followed his glare. “Yoda, tell us all that this is one big mistake so we can eat and start the party.”

  My heart was running a hundred-yard dash; a warm mist of sweat burst through my skin. The staring match between Yoda and Money Russ made it obvious they didn’t like each other. The crowd was strangled with anticipation. Yoda looked at me, and then rubbed the hairs on his chin. Those few seconds felt like eternity. After squinting his eyes at me, Yoda started nodding his head. Suddenly he raised his glass to Money Russ, accepting the challenge.

  The crowd rioted with applause. I didn’t know the seriousness of my actions, but Yoda was nodding to a mystical tune and it wasn’t any music playing.

  Money Russ said, “Okay, old partner, it’s on.” Instantly the huge gorilla appeared so close to me that his foul breath had my stomach doing flips. After his huge chest heaved too many times for my taste, Russ said, “Alright, Black Justice. We got enough time, calm down.” The gorilla instantly obeyed his master and left. Money Russ tried to hide his nervousness from the crowd. “When he ready, we’ll see what Mr. Hustle here can do. The challenge is on. Right now, let’s get down. Pour out a little for the hustlers in the pen, and the ones in heaven, and party hearty ‘till the sun come up.”

  The sound of Soul to Soul’s, Keep On Moving blasted and waiters appeared out of thin air. Platters of Maine lobster, jumbo shrimp, stuffed chicken, filet mignon, roast beef, candy yams, collard greens, wild rice, macaroni and cheese, salads, and almost every other food combination you could think of was served. I looked to Yoda for some type of response to my challenge, but he was more concerned about his food and a bottle of champagne.

  I ate wondering how big of an error I made. Then I started thinking that Yoda should have thanked me for the challenge. I mean, how could he blame me? He had to know how bad I needed to succeed at something—anything, in my life. Wasn’t it obvious that I never wanted to feel inadequate again, or live from check to check? I was in the world of hustlers, so what was wrong with joining them? That night I was recognized as Johnny Hustle, so what was the harm in that? At worst, I could always call the whole thing off.

  After our plates were clean, the tables were moved, and hustling feet hit the dance floor. Dave was preoccupied with getting high off the platters of cocaine that floated around. Yoda was off talking to a group that included an orthodox Jewish man, an African, and the White pimp they called Vanilla.

  My back held the building up for an hour as I checked out the scene. Yoda eventually walked over and stood next to me. I cleared my throat, and in a pleading voice I asked, “Yo man, you mad at me or something? If I was out of line, I’ll walk right over and tell that man I was out of line for challenging him. The other two guys can try.”

  Yoda shook his head in disappointment. “Listen, cuz, and listen good you young fool. Green Eyes is in Money Russ’ camp. As his protégé, his duty is to challenge his teacher. It tells the rest of the hustlers that Money Russ groomed him right. Since he’s willing to challenge the king, then his skills is better than the rest of ours. The White boy, Casper, don’t know if he want to be a con man, pimp, gangster, or jostler. All he knows is that he wants to be somebody. The only reason he stood was ‘cause he wanted these gorgeous females to recognize the threads he had on. So now with those two out the way, guess who’s left, smart ass?”

  I took his reprimand and remained humble. “So what’s so bad about that?”

  Yoda looked at me l
ike I was the greatest imbecile alive. “Foolio, you never took money, and Money Russ was digging pockets back when you were in diapers. You don’t know the difference between a long or short con, a moving train, a pigeon drop, or a simple fraud rip off, and you challenged the king?”

  I was determined. “Yeah, but you can show me. It’s obvious you two don’t like each other, so let me take his crown and hand it over to you so—”

  “Fool, I can have his crown any day I put my long shoes on. Are you slow or just stupid? I made that dope-fiend chump up there.” Fury exploded in Yoda’s eyes. He took a few deep breaths, then cracked a smile and patted me on my back. “As a matter fact, you here to have fun. Have some fun.”

  In an eager voice I asked, “So that means you’re gonna teach me then?”

  Yoda posted up against the wall. After scanning the crowd, he said, “Sure, sure, after we get to know each other a little better.”

  The Disco lights and music sent sonic waves through the crowd. The DJ played the favorite tunes of three generations. While moving to the beat, a few people stuck out to me, and I wanted to know who they were. A fine mulatto woman, with her red hair done in a short cut walked by. Her straight nose, pink lips, light eyes, and flawless skin complimented her bowed legs. A red, silk, slack and blouse outfit decorated her slim frame. She shined brighter than any light in the place. I broke her hypnosis and asked Yoda, “Who’s that?”

  “Boy, you sure aiming high twice in one night, huh? I really think you crazy. That’s Red. She’s the second best, flat-footed, pick pocketing, jostler, and all around hustler in Times Square. She controls the Four Seasons and loves sniffing that cocaine and giving men pain. Don’t even look her way. She’s a peacock, and them eyes of hers will dazzle you ‘till you start hustling for her Texan ass.”

  With his answer I became more inquisitive of the guest. I saw a short male who was the best dressed. His long hair was fried, dyed, and laid to the side. His glimmering diamonds, and all white outfit that ended with pink alligator shoes, gave me greedy ideas, so I asked, “Who’s that?”