The Legend of Johnny Hustle: The Come Up

by Zach Tate

  He paused, looking up to the sky as if he was getting inspiration from above.

  “Instead of going down to Wall Street, or to the Capital to rob like dem hustlers do, I’ma stay here in my own piece of the world. There ain’t nothing good about the ‘hood, cuz, but down here I’m somebody. A lot of people die and can’t say that.” He scratched the hair on his chin. “You know the difference between a so-called criminal jostler, pick pocket man, and the white-collar kind?”

  “No, but damn Yoda, you sound bitter man.”

  “The white collar kind is called a non-profit organization or a charity. They say feed the poor, but they executives get six figure salaries. What type of bull shaggle is that?” He dropped his head low and shook his head. “Plain and simple, cuz, they hustling the vic's that send in dem donations. And the vic only making a donation to clear they own conscience from all the foulness they done did. I’m a hustler straight up, and since I ain’t starting no charity, I’ma do what I gotta do to eat.” He looked into my eyes. “Bitter, huh? You don’t sound too different, cuz. The truth hurts man, but I ain’t sleeping. Like that rapper boy in that Hip-bop group, Flavor Flav be saying, Yoda know what time it is.”

  The sun was peeking through the clouds. “Speaking of the time, why the hell you got me on the roof this early?”

  Yoda smiled and changed his mood. “Sheeiit Ccz, you up here turning me to Socrates with your questions. Let’s get down to what I came up here for. Let’s go back up to the roof.”

  We climbed up the ladder and onto the main roof where we had a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the city. Yoda pointed to the building across from us.

  “Dig this, cuz. Midtown is like this: In nineteen oh-four Long-Acre became Times Square ‘cause of the New York Times over there.” He then pointed down to 42nd Street. “These peep-shows and movies used to be theaters until Morton Minsky, a true hustler, hustled flesh in the Burlesque House, back in nineteen twenty seven. The lights on Broadway came from a man named Top Hat Oscar Hammerstein. In nineteen oh four, he had a show called the Great White Way with all the flashing lights. If you want go back to Tammany Hall, the most corrupt political hustlers you can find, you gonna trace the square back to when they short conned the Delaware Indian chief for the land. Always remember, poly-tics means many tics, and when you got a lot of tics, there’s a whole lot of blood sucking going on.”

  Right then, I realized that I didn’t know a damn thing. That’s when Yoda pointed to a XXX peep show.

  “The Fascination Amusement Hall opened on Eighth Avenue, and that attracted all the kiddy freaks and queers until the Gambino-Mafia boys came down and made it a hustler’s paradise. Now with Crack cocaine, and the stock market falling this year, the real estate market is shot to hell and everything gone change.”

  “So how do I know what hustle is for me?” I asked naively.

  Yoda smirked like he wanted to hand me a dunce cap. “All of them. Last night you saw hustlers from all walks of life. Some snatch pockets like Dave do, and others get the President to write million dollar grants for dummy organizations like Vanilla do. No amount of money is too large or too small. When you get down here, you check into a hotel you can afford, and the better the hotel, the better you’re at your hustle. Most start off at the Howard Johnson’s, the Best Western down on ninth, and here at the Carter. When you can put away five hundred or better a day, you move into the Holiday Inn, the Marriott Marquise that opened in eighty-five, or the Hilton. After you reached a grand a-day, everyday, you moving on up like George and Weasy to the Essex House, the Parker Meridian, the Four Seasons, and the Plaza. When you up to ten grand a day or better, that’s the best suite in the Waldorf, the Ritz Carlton, W, or you get yourself a luxury apartment in a hotel. In one year you may have went from the Best Western, up to the Four Seasons, and then back here at the Carter. That’s just how the game goes.”

  “I got it, the status is in the hotels you can afford?”

  “Yes and no. Some hustlers hustle the hotel. You can claim one for yourself. Then when you earned your stripes, you learn how to make them hotels make money for you. As for me, I got a stake in this one here and I’m not moving. When you become king, they say you at the top, but I’ve seen four so-called kings come and go. The one we got now don’t know lick about representing what the hustle is about.” He stopped to look at his watch. “It’s getting late. Go change into that cheap outfit you wore down here, and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

  I walked towards the roof door, and Yoda went in the opposite direction. When I looked over my shoulder, he jumped over the edge again. Out of curiosity, I walked back over to the ledge to see where he went. I looked over and he was gone. Of course I was confused, but since I didn’t see his body splattered on the pavement, I figured he was all right.

  $$$

  The linen outfit I wore downtown was waiting for me by the time I reached my room. A five-foot tall Asian woman was at the door asking for the clothes I wore to the birthday bash. I handed her the wrinkled, wet clothes. She smiled, and then spoke in broken English.

  “You—you wit Yo-da?” I nodded, figuring she would bow to me once she received the news. Instead, she smiled, flirting. “You owe me hun-dred dolla. You pay too-day, or you no stay, hi.” She shut the door.

  Hurriedly, I dressed and went downstairs. I reached the lobby to find Yoda still wearing his dingy clothes.

  “You took long enough, cuz,” he muttered while tapping his watch.

  “Some Chinese looking broad was telling me I owe her one small,” I complained.

  “Hotel ain’t for free, cuz; it’s time you paid your own way. Let’s go.”

  My stomach growled from not eating for over twenty-four hours. We walked to the corner of 43rd at Seventh Avenue. The sun was all the way up.

  I eased alongside of Yoda before he asked, “What does obey mean to you?”

  I thought about my time in the army before I answered. “Do as you’re told and keep it moving.”

  “Yeah, cuz, but one is a power trip, based off of fear. The other is based off of trust and loyalty. Take a guess which one I want you to do?”

  “The one out of loyalty and trust.”

  “Cuz, you gonna make my schooling a lot easier, but don’t put your trust in man. Just trust in what he will do. The mother of disappointment is expectation. That trust word is way overrated, and hardly ever critically analyzed. When I tell you to do something, I want you to do it ‘cause you trust that I am opening your eyes to a whole new world. Can you do it?”

  We crossed 42nd Street and were heading downtown on Seventh Avenue when I answered. “Yeah, you got it.”

  The place that represented my bank was opening up. Yoda saw Proverb; as we passed by him, Yoda made his usual call of, “Proverb, what’s the word?”

  “The glory of a young man is his strength, and the splendor of old men is their gray head.”

  Before we stepped away, I nodded at the man that was holding my nest egg. Then I whispered to Yoda, “What’s up with that? He always have those things to say?”

  “Why you think we call him Proverb, Foolio? Dem there sayings may save your life one day if you listen.”

  We continued our walk downtown. Next to the Metro Hotel on Seventh, an all night fruit market was open. Buckets of flowers for sale were on the sidewalk in front of the store. Yoda pointed to a bucket of white roses.

  “Bring those with us.”

  I looked around and thought how petty that was. I hurriedly picked up the bucket, and kept walking down the street like I was supposed to have them. With no response to what I had just did, Yoda stared straight ahead and kept walking. A few paces down, he then turned to speak to me.

  “You may be a natural. I like the way you didn’t look back. That can help you or hurt you, but learn to feel the ground under your feet. If you feel the pavement bouncing then somebody is on your back, ready to take what’s yours. If you don’t look back and keep your cool, spectators feel you su
pposed to be doing what you doing, and they won’t be alarmed.”

  As we continued our stroll down the empty avenue, a well-dressed White man in a gray suit walked towards us. While he was sightseeing at the buildings above, a briefcase was dangling in his hand. He was about thirty yards from us when Yoda tapped me.

  “Quick, pour the water out of the rose bucket.” I leaned over to pour the water. Yoda whispered, “You know how to box, cuz?”

  Water splashed on the cool, dirty, pavement when I said, “Boxing champ in the army at Fort Dix, way before some racist cracker shot me.”

  “Good, put up your dukes and let me see what you made of, cuz,” he yelled at me.

  I thought Yoda was joking. With stolen property on me, I didn’t feel it was the time or the place to be playing, but I remembered the oath of obedience I made. I dropped the bucket and assumed the fighting position.

  “Yeah, put em up,” Yoda yelled while throwing punches and ducking out of the way. Our horse playing took up the space of the sidewalk. As the man in the suit walked by, Yoda threw a punch at me, quickly turned around, and made a head on collision with the man.

  “Pardon me, lad!” he complained to Yoda. “Watch your bloody manners and your ramping around,” he bawled in an Oxford accent.

  “Pardon me, sir,” Yoda apologized with sincerity. Then he fixed the man’s suit jacket and tie.

  The suit walked away cursing us. Yoda shrugged his shoulder with indifference.

  “Pick up the bucket and keep it moving,” he ordered.

  The weight of the bucket took its toll. When we reached the next corner, Yoda pulled out the man’s wallet. He counted two credit cards, then opened the belly that revealed over $200 in cash. He then stuffed the wallet between the roses as nonchalantly as breathing. I was amazed, learning real fast.

  By the time we reached the next corner, a huge New York Times delivery truck zoomed by us. Two older men threw out a block of daily papers in front of the newsstand. Without losing a step, Yoda scooped up the stack of papers.

  “Always think on your feet. Use everything around you in a split second. A professional makes all things look easy because he uses what’s available to get the best job done.”

  He placed the papers in my hands, then put the bucket on top of the stack. Any doubt that I was in the presence of a true thief left me. In a few short blocks, Yoda used every opportunity that came his way to get paid, no matter how big or small.

  Our trek didn’t stop until we reached 35th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenue. It was six-thirty in the morning. Yoda walked me to the side of a building, under a scaffold. At the center of the block, which was filled with parked cars, he pointed to the sidewalk.

  “Have a seat.”

  I put the stack of newspapers down and sat on them. On the left of me were the ten dozen roses, rolled up in the bucket. Next to the bucket was Yoda sitting on the red fire hydrant of the building we sat under. Just when I was about to ask what we were doing under the scaffold, he pointed across the street.

  “Don’t move your eyes from those front doors.”

  With stolen property on me, and the best thief in Times Square sitting by my side, I looked across the street at the entrance to the Mid-town South police precinct.

  $$$

  We sat in front the precinct until the big hand of my watch went from six to twelve. My impatience got the best of me. “What the hell are we doing in front of the police station with stolen property on us?”

  Yoda grunted then slapped me on my shoulder. “Shush, Cuz, and you can learn something.”

  Just at that moment a man on his way to work asked, “How much for the roses?”

  I was stuck for words. As calmly as ever, Yoda said, “Ten bucks a dozen, take two for fifteen right now.”

  The stranger dug in his pocket and removed $20.00. “Three for twenty,” he tried to bargain. Just like a native New Yorker.

  “Youse got a deal, my friend,” Yoda responded while taking the money and handing the man his roses. The man walked off, then Yoda said, “Seven o’clock. Here they come.”

  Out of my peripheral vision, police cars arrived in rows and double-parked at the station. Officers in plain clothes, uniforms, and some in suit and ties passed the doors like ants in an anthill. Yoda put his mouth close to my ear.

  “Study every one of those faces. Record them in your mind and never forget them as long as you live.”

  I thought criminals stayed away from the police so I mumbled, “I don’t get it, Yoda.”

  “You not supposed to get it, cuz; just obey turtle brain.” His eyes stayed locked on the faces leaving the station. “You have to stop thinking like a two-eyes, a square. Just think, why else would we be here?”

  I was too nervous to think straight. “Man, I don’t know, but I’m ready to leave when you are.”

  Yoda shook his head at my stupidity. “Look, Foolio, those are the same police officers that walk the beat you gonna feed from. That’s the seven to three shift. The busiest shift in the world. We’re all a part of one big food chain. We hunt our prey, the citizens, and the police hunt their prey, us. If you know the officers by face, then you can’t get busted when they in plain clothes waiting for a hustler to slip up. Use your head, turtle brain, and start seeing things like a hawk. Now do as I say and study every face. Study wrong and that’s the face that will cuff and cart you off to the who-scow upstate somewhere.”

  The light bulb went off in my head. By 7:45 a.m. the block was empty. We went back to Seventh Avenue and headed downtown. We crossed 34th Street, reaching Madison Square Garden with a bucket of flowers in my hands.

  Yoda took me down a huge row of stairs that led to Penn Station. At the bottom landing, a dingy bum was shaking a cup asking for money. Yoda stopped in front of the man and then twisted his head in every direction.

  “Give me a double saw and a fever for the roses and the papers,” he said to the bum.

  The bum ignored Yoda and continued to accept the donations until there was a gap between the commuters leaving the station. That’s when his coffee colored teeth said, “When it slows down, give me a block and drop it like it’s hot.”

  Yoda walked over to me and told me to place the bucket and papers at the man’s feet. The second group of commuters from the rush hour traffic slowed down. Yoda stood in front of the bum, looking all around. The bum cautiously removed a giant stack of bills from his breast pocket and handed Yoda $25.00 behind his back. Yoda dipped into the bucket, pulled the wallet that he liberated from the man in the suit, and then led me towards the steps.

  During our departure I figured that a double saw was two tens that equaled $20.00. The fever was dice talk and stood for $5.00, which equaled $25.00. I was catching on, feeling proud of myself.

  On the way up the stairs, I looked over at Yoda. His eyes bounced all around the crowd, until he motioned ahead with his chin. Directly in front of me, a woman had a large open tote bag. Her purse stuck out at the top of the bag. Yoda nodded at me furiously before whispering, “Pull it—pull it.”

  I heard him, but I didn’t know how to do it. After my hesitation, he stepped up, inches away from the woman’s ass. He slipped his hand into her bag swiftly while using his body as a block from the pedestrians behind him. The moment the woman stepped ahead, he allowed her stride to move the bag forward while holding onto her purse. Once the small purse was out of the bag, he quickly stuck it in his waist. We continued strolling down 34th Street, as normal as ever, until we reached Eighth Avenue.

  Yoda stopped at a mailbox on the corner. He reached into the purse and removed close to $400. He then removed a checkbook, two credit cards, and the woman’s driver’s license. After pocketing those items, he dropped the purse with the rest of the woman’s identification into the mailbox. He then pulled out the wallet he took from the suit. He did the same to the wallet before dropping it into the box also.

  I felt a little better knowing the vic's would get their identification back. Then m
y mind gave me a quick reminder that the predators on Animal Planet never had mercy for their prey. Mercy equates to being hungry, and for a hustler, that just doesn’t add up.

  We walked silently until we reached the Port Authority.

  “Foolio, when I tell you to move, ain’t no time for hesitation,” Yoda barked. “In life, opportunities come everyday, but those who hesitate will never be great.”

  “I didn’t know how…”

  “Man, taking something don’t require a lot of thought. Either you gonna do it, or you ain’t. If it was in your heart to be a thief, you would of stole, so let me know right now if I’m wasting my time?”

  I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t obey as I was supposed to, so I remained silent and opened the door to the Port Authority bus terminal.

  Just as I was about to be uncomfortable about seeing Marcy and Elexus, Marcy yelled out to Yoda, “Girl, tell me you got some coins for Ms. Thang to make? The one thing I love waking up to besides a stiff man is some stiff stacks of coins.”

  “Oh, you trifling bitch. Hush, you know Johnny don’t be trying to deal with your flaming dragon ways,” came from Elexus in an effort to become familiar in a way that I was not going to condone.

  “Six cards, nothing major. A checkbook and a few secured ID’s. Just pick me and junior here up a couple of suits and we even. That’s about six small you getting over on. Remember, one turn deserves another.”

  “Come on, Yoda, we got you sweet thang. Just let us twist this and we’ll come and see you tonight,” came from Marcy who was leaving. He was clearly the leader of the two.

  With that part of our business concluded, we headed on our way to another adventure.

  $$$

  In one morning, we made over $600 in cash and merchandise and I had the faces of my opposition recorded in my brain. On the way back to the hotel, we stopped into a diner on Eighth Avenue for breakfast. Yoda placed a large order for the two of us.