by Wahida Clark
BLACK IS BLUE
1. Did you already know Kaseem was a snake?
2. What was your response to Desiree and Polo getting together?
THE “P” IS FREE…
1. Do you think that Wiz overreacted when he saw the guy (Moo) at the car talking to his girl?
2. Do you think he should have chased a crackhead (Crystal) and wifed her?
THE LAST LAUGH
1. Should the best friend find out that BoBo was involved in her sister’s death? And if so, should she take vengeance on his baby’s mother, her now love interest?
2. Should the gang send someone after them, and how?
ALL FOR NOTHING
1. Do you think that Tiffany, the woman Jihad messed with on the run, should come up pregnant? If so, should she see his downfall on the news and go after his real family?
2. Do you think Jihad, being on the run, should have gone to see his son, or should he have put together a visit the way he did with Monique before he left?
MAKIN’ ENDZ MEET
1. What do you think about the relationship between Nina and Reese from NY?
2. Do you think Nina should have left without getting her child back?
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
WAHIDA CLARK was born and raised in Trenton, New Jersey. She began writing fiction while incarcerated at a woman’s federal camp in Lexington, Kentucky. Her first novel, Thugs and the Women Who Love Them, and the sequel, Every Thug Needs a Lady, appeared on the Essence bestsellers list. Since her release, Wahida has achieved much success with her follow-up, Thug Matrimony. Her most recent work, Payback With Ya Life, made its way onto the prestigious New York Times bestseller list. Wahida continues to amplify the urban landscape from her home and office in East Orange, New Jersey.
VICTOR L. MARTIN is the author of four published novels: A Hood Legend, Menage’s Way, For the Strength of You, and Unique’s Ending. He is currently incarcerated in a North Carolina prison.
LASHONDA “L. L. DASHER” SIDBERRY-TEAGUE is a Wilmington, North Carolina, native, coming into her own as an up-and-coming author. She is the wife of author Kwame “DUTCH” Teague, one of the hottest street writers, and the mother of five children. She has found her calling in writing, and has her first novel, Kiss, coming soon. LaShonda lives by the motto “Be a blessing and you will be blessed.”
BONTA was born and raised on the mean streets of Chicago’s southeast side. After graduating high school and a brief stay in the US Army, he answered the streets’ calling. The cost of chasing the mirage of fame and fortune was a 151-month federal sentence. While he was there, the legendary Joe Black inspired him to get serious about writing. Since then he has written two novels and a few short stories.
SHAWN “JIHAD” TRUMP was born in Pennsylvania. In November 1999 Shawn was arrested and subsequently indicted by the federal government and sentenced to eighty-four months in prison. During his time he learned to channel his emotions through writing. Since being released, Shawn continues to write and is also partner in an up-and-coming indie label, South of the Burgh Entertainment. Shawn is married with two daughters.
THE GOLDEN
HUSTLA
By
WAHIDA CLARK
CHAPTER ONE
GBI
Congratulations, Bob! You did it! Are you sitting down?” Alexis Greenspan shouted in excitement. She could feel Bob’s adrenaline rush through the phone.
“Oh God, Alexis. Did I really do it?” Bob could barely contain his breathing.
“You did it, Bob Tokowski! You have just won your fair share of one million dollars of American Eagle Gold Coins! One million!” Alexis screamed out. “I told you to hang in there, Bob. The road was rocky, but you did it. Your perseverance paid off. Again, congratulations to ya, Bob. You deserve it! You finally hit the big time.”
Bob was now crying tears of joy. “Thank… you, Alexis. Oh, my God. Thank you.”
“Now, Bob; I need you to grab your pencil and paper. You must write down this claim number. Go ahead, Bob, grab a pen and a pad.”
Alexis could hear Bob piddling around in the background. Then she heard a moan and then a thud.
“Bob!? Bob!?”
The excitement must’ve gotten the best of him.
Click.
Agent Houser turned off the recorder. Houser had been the lead investigator for the past two years, heading up the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Two more years and Houser, who reminded you of the undercover detective played by Robert Blake in the 1970s hit Baretta, could retire. However, he was ready to retire now. His impetigo was spreading, and pus was oozing out of the skin infection on his legs. But he told himself it would all be over soon.
Retirement, here I come!
The bright side of his gloomy lining was that he lucked up and got an interview with Erica McCoy, aka Alexis Greenspan. She was one of the top salespeople at WMM advertising, aka We Make Millionaires. All of law enforcement knew that this was one of the biggest and hardest-to-penetrate fraudulent telemarketing firms in the state of Georgia; they knew how to operate in that gray area.
Houser had screamed at his team of four, “Screw the FBI! We can do just as good a job as they can.”
He had pulled one of the not-so-oldest tricks in the book, but old nonetheless. He sent Erica an official-looking certified letter explaining that she had inherited some money, to the lovely tune of $250,000. The letter stated that she would have to come and get processed to see if she was eligible to claim it. When she pulled up to the Bureau’s fictitious office, which they had set up just a few blocks away from WMM, Houser flashed his badge, introduced himself and told her to follow him.
She did. To the Bureau’s main office.
“Why are we at the GBI?” Alexis’s curiosity was piqued.
“We have to make sure that you are claiming what’s rightfully yours,” Houser simply stated.
As they walked past the front desk and down the long, bright white corridor, Erica got really curious. “Are you sure I’m here to claim some kind of inheritance?”
Houser smiled. “Depends on how you look at it.”
“How I look at it? What does that mean? Don’t have me down here on no bullshit! I got better things to do with my time,” she spat.
Houser pulled out his keys and unlocked his office door. He moved to the side and motioned for Alexis to step inside. He then flicked the light switch.
“Please have a seat, Ms. McCoy. Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Bottled water?”
“No. I just want you to tell me what this is really all about.” Erica was growing agitated.
Houser sat his six-one, two-hundred-pound frame behind his desk. He lifted his spectacles off his nose and rubbed its bridge. He then leaned back into the chair, resting his hands behind his head. Erica cringed at the patches of impetigo on his chin and elbows. He obviously picked up on her discomfort because he hastily sat up, resting his arms on the chair’s armrest.
He hit the intercom button on his phone. “Doris, tell Parker and Radcliff to bring the WMM file.”
“WMM? What is this about? You fucker! You tricked me to come to your office under false pretenses. I should sue your ass!” She stood and grabbed her purse. “My name is Erica McCoy, not WMM.” She turned to leave the office.
That’s when Houser hit the play button on his recorder. Booming through its speakers was the conversation between her and Bob Tokowski. Erica abruptly turned around at the sound of her sales voice and stood frozen in place.
Agents Parker and Radcliff entered the office. They both slid several folders in front of Houser and took their seats. Agent Parker looked as if he had a blond toupee sitting on top of his head. His wrinkled plaid suit drooped over his scrawny frame. He reminded Erica of an anorexic Bart Simpson. Radcliff was grossly overweight and sloppy looking. His oily black hair was slicked back into a ponytail. He looked like a goldfish.
After they listened to Alexis yell “Bob!? Bob!?” Houser turned off the tape recorder.
“Please have a seat, Ms. McCoy.”
Erica clutched her Gucci bag tighter.
“Fuck you! I am going to sue your ass for deceit and for wasting my time. Kiss my ass!” With that said, she stormed out of the office.
Houser jumped from his chair and headed for his office door. He stood in the hallway in front of his office and said, “Murder, Ms. McCoy! If you don’t get your ass back in here, you’re going down for murder.”
Erica spun around and practically ran to get in Houser’s face.
“Murder!? You wannabe FBI agent! I ain’t got nothing to do with no murder. You people have really lost your minds. Find someone else to hassle,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Ms. McCoy, your client Bob Tokowski, he died. Dropped dead of a heart attack, right while you were trying to scam him with your ‘millions’ in gold coins.”
Houser motioned with two fingers from each hand to emphasize quote unquote “millions.”
“That’s right, we know all about the scamming and scheming of WMM. We know your boss, Rinaldo Haywood, aka Brian Stout, aka Tommy Green, aka John Bennett. We know about his office in the Florida Keys run by his cohorts Brandon Ingram and Charlie Adams. We know your phone name Alexis Greenspan. Very catchy. We—”
“Hold up, you asshole. I don’t give a fuck what you know. I’m a sales associate. A damned good one at that. I sell to business owners. If the client decides to patronize our firm and at the same time gamble at a chance of getting a bunch of gold coins, so the fuck what? That’s not illegal!” Alexis ranted as she turned to walk out.
“Alexis or Erica, whichever character you’re in right now,” fat boy chuckled as Houser began his negotiations, “this is your only chance to help yourself. You know what’s going on over there is against the law. All I have to do is say the word and the feds’ll be all over that place. And not only will you go down for money laundering, conspiracy and fraud, you also have a murder hanging over your head.”
Parker finally decided to put his two cents in.
“Look, Alexis. The company is going down whether you help yourself or not. If I was—”
“Look,” Alexis sighed as she stepped back into the office and shut the door. “If y’all had something then you wouldn’t need me.”
Alexis snatched open the door and then slammed it shut behind her.
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