The House that Hustle Built, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  He had a knack for acquiring properties and knew how to flip them, and he had almost tripled his investments. In his heyday, Sammy was said to be worth close to three hundred million and had as many as a thousand soldiers in his organization. He had close ties to the mob, especially the Gambino crime family. The government finally brought him down in ’87. He did twenty years in an upstate prison, and found himself on Rikers because of a parole violation.

  The two men played chess together in the dayroom regularly, while other inmates chose to watch television or bullshit around. Hassan wanted to keep his mind sharp, and Sammy helped him with that. They both were skilled at the game, but Sammy had a few more wins over Hassan.

  “Your move, Youngblood,” Sammy said, snapping Hassan out of his trance.

  “My bad, Sammy,” Hassan said civilly.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Just this case.”

  “Don’t think about it. If you do, it will eat away at you.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  After the bad news from Bimmy about Pearla, Hassan knew he needed to get out of jail quickly. He couldn’t wait around any longer. Every day he became more impatient. His lawyers were working tirelessly on his case, trying to get the judge to allow bail at the next hearing, but his chances were slim because of his reputation, and the bodies on the particular gun he was caught with. But he wasn’t alone. His codefendants were indicted too, and they weren’t talking either.

  Hassan moved his rook to g5, trying to entrap Sammy’s knight.

  Sammy saw the move three miles ahead. He shook his head, unimpressed. “You’re not on your A game today, I see. You gonna allow me to take this game so easily?”

  “Shit. I fucked up!”

  “Yeah, you did. And it’s gonna cost you.”

  Sammy countered Hassan’s move, moving his queen to c3. “Checkmate!” And the game was over.

  Hassan leaned back into his chair and sighed.

  “Talk to me, young blood. You never been that sloppy.” Sammy looked at his young friend. “It’s more than just this case that got you looking twisted. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s pussy, man.”

  Sammy chuckled. “A black man’s kryptonite.”

  “Any man’s kryptonite,” Hassan corrected.

  Sammy laughed. “True indeed.”

  “I need to leave this place, Sammy. I can’t think straight. I need to see this bitch and have a word with her face to face.”

  “What are your lawyers doing for you?”

  “Taking too damn long. They pushin’ for bail for my next hearing. I can’t wait that long.”

  “We all want out. Sometimes, you just have to play your cards right and know how to work with the hand you’ve been dealt. I know you’re a smart man, Hassan. Just look at the world around you and try to come up with your best conclusion. You’re a don, right?”

  “You know it,” Hassan replied proudly.

  “So as dons, we’re kings on the chessboard, and what do kings have? Pawns. And what are the pawns’ objectives? To protect their king, right? By any means necessary.”

  Hassan nodded.

  Sammy said casually, “Fortunately for you, you have two of your pawns incarcerated in the same house as you.”

  Hassan knew what Sammy was getting at. He had been playing it cool with his two codefendants, allowing them time to step up and take the rap for the gun. He knew that was asking a lot. But too much time had passed, and he no longer felt merciful.

  “Sometimes that pawn may need a little nudging to do what is best for the king.”

  Hassan nodded. “You right.”

  Hassan strongly felt that he shouldn’t have done one day in jail. His soldiers were supposed to be willing to die for the man that put food in their mouths and fed their families.

  Right on cue, one of Hassan’s codefendants strolled into the dayroom. Wayne-Oh was a young boy of nineteen and a fierce little nigga trying to hold it down on the Island. Because of Hassan, he was not to be fucked with. He walked around with his head up and shoulders squared, not trying to be some punk in jail. The word was out—the little nigga was connected to Hassan. Hassan fixed his eyes on Wayne-Oh. In a way, he was proud of the nigga yet disappointed.

  “There’s pawn number one, I see,” Sammy said, looking at Wayne-Oh. “You might want to have a chat with him real soon, get him to think differently about the case. Have him see the light.”

  “I definitely will.”

  ***

  The following day at afternoon chow, Hassan sat at the table with a few of his goons, having a regular conversation about pussy and bitches, joking and laughing about some of the best sex they ever had. But this wasn’t unusual. Mealtime in Rikers was more like a social gathering for information and gossip. Meanwhile, a few corrections officers patrolled the area, keeping a vigilant eye on certain inmates in the cafeteria.

  Hassan was the alpha male in the group; he told the funniest stories and had had sex with some of the baddest bitches, from New York to LA, making him almost a celebrity figure on the Island.

  As the group continued to converse, Hassan reflected for a moment. His mind shifted to Pearla. His heart sank when he thought about her infidelity. He had been with hundreds of women, and the majority he didn’t give a fuck about. Some bitches in his life were just for bragging rights, some for good sex, and some for business. But for some reason, Pearla was his Achilles’ heel. He cared more about her than any other. There was something special about Pearla that didn’t make her a dead bitch right away.

  Just then Wayne-Oh walked into the cafeteria with another inmate. Hassan had his eyes glued on him. He needed to have another word with the young man. He needed to continue to persuade the young muthafucka. It was now or never.

  Hassan excused himself from the table and walked toward Wayne-Oh. A few guards noticed Hassan’s hasty movement toward another inmate. Hassan gave a head nod to one of the guards, and he understood.

  Hassan walked up to Wayne-Oh, catching him by surprise. “Wayne-Oh, let’s talk.” Hassan looked at the other inmate Wayne-Oh was with and told him, “Fuck off, nigga!” and the young inmate pivoted and walked away, not wanting any problems.

  Hassan threw his arm around Wayne-Oh and said, “Let’s walk and talk, nigga.” He led him out of the cafeteria, where they had some privacy in a nearby corner. Hassan removed his arm from around Wayne-Oh and looked him in his eyes. “Did you think any further about what you gonna do when you go back into court?”

  Wayne-Oh appeared visibly nervous. “Hassan, look, man—”

  “What you about to tell me, Wayne-Oh? Some bad news?”

  Wayne-Oh sighed. “I’ve been doin’ some thinking, and I had a talk wit’ my moms.”

  “What do your moms have to do with our situation?”

  “We just been talk—”

  “Nigga, you a grown-ass man, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you don’t need your moms to make decisions for you, right?”

  Wayne-Oh didn’t immediately answer him. “Yo, what you asking me to do, it’s crazy! You know how much time I can get if I admit to them charges?”

  “Nigga, you think I’m asking you?”

  “I showed you respect on them streets, Hassan. I was loyal to you.”

  “And what? You think that stops in jail? Nigga, you a soldier in them streets and in the jails as well, and when a boss tells you to do something, nigga, you do it!”

  “You out your mind, nigga! I eat them charges, and I ain’t gonna never see home again. I got a fuckin’ son!”

  Hassan frowned. “You think you got a choice, huh? You think you got protection in here with your Crip friends? I’m your protection, nigga!”

  “Fuck you, Hassan! I’m not fuckin’ doin’ it!” Wayne-Oh said thr
ough clenched teeth. “You ain’t askin’ for no small favor, nigga. You askin’ for my fuckin’ life! And I ain’t doin’ life for nobody!”

  “You’re not, huh?”

  “That ain’t my gun, and I ain’t body those niggas on it. You deal wit’ that shit! I wanna get out of here to see my son, and I ain’t gonna let you ruin my fuckin’ life ’cuz you a fuckin’ coward. You fucked up, not me.”

  Hassan kept his cool, though he wanted to smash Wayne-Oh’s head through the brick wall. “Fuck it then. Do you, nigga. Have fun,” he said calmly, backing away from Wayne-Oh.

  After Wayne-Oh stormed away and went back into the cafeteria, Hassan walked into the area shortly after and saw him sitting with a few Crips and chit-chatting. Two Crip gang members looked Hassan’s way, and it wasn’t a friendly stare. But Hassan kept his cool and went to rejoin his crew at the table.

  Several days passed since Hassan had talked with Wayne-Oh, and he didn’t make any more attempts to speak to him about the case. Wayne-Oh had his mind made up, and Hassan had to respect that.

  ***

  Wayne-Oh stepped into the jail shower with his necessities this particular evening. Showers were limited, so he planned to be in and out. He wanted to call and talk to his baby mama and his son. One guard was posted outside of the shower, watching the comings and goings of inmates, when Wayne-Oh walked into the open shower, which was already occupied by three other inmates. He proceeded to wash up, while keeping aware of his surroundings.

  A minute went by, and then suddenly Wayne-Oh found himself alone. The other inmates had left abruptly, and the guard outside had stepped away for a moment. Out of the blue, Hassan appeared with several OGs behind him. They were armed with some sharp shanks in their hands. They all glared at Wayne-Oh.

  Wayne-Oh frowned heavily at Hassan. He already knew what it was. “Fuck you, nigga! You gonna do this to me, like I’m scared.”

  Hassan casually responded, “You made your choice, nigga, and that choice is gonna cost you your life.”

  Wayne-Oh was cornered. He tried to stay fierce and tough, but he knew his fate was sealed. A few tears trickled down his cheek as he locked eyes with Hassan, a man he’d once looked up to and taken orders from without any hesitation.

  Hassan nodded to the OGs, and they all charged toward Wayne-Oh, who posed in a fighting stance and went swinging for the first man that attempted to penetrate his flesh with a shank. An intense fight ensued with four men, with Hassan watching.

  Wayne-Oh, his back against the wall, glared at his attackers. When one rushed his way, he swung wildly and connected his fist with the muthafucka’s jaw. But it wasn’t enough to deter the men from implementing his murder. The men were too big and too strong. His desperate attempt to shield himself from bodily harm was to no avail. He fought viciously, but one of the men grabbed him from behind in a tight chokehold, and the others repeatedly stabbed him in the chest, torso, and the final strike came to his neck. He collapsed in the shower bleeding profusely, frantically grasping his wounds and choking on his own blood as he lay on the wet, cold tiles.

  Hassan looked down at him before exiting the showers. “Stupid muthafucka! You chose death over life in prison. Fuck you!”

  Three

  Pearla walked into her master bedroom wearing a pretty babydoll top and a G-string underneath. Cash was in awe as he lay on her bed. He wanted to devour every inch of her sensual body.

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “You look good, girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pearla, her pussy throbbing, hooked her eyes on Cash’s naked body. She never got tired of looking at him. From his hard, big, black dick to his tight abs and smooth chest, he was fine. And she could lick the nigga like a lollipop.

  Lately, she and Cash had been fucking like rabbits, sometimes raw-dogging it. She loved the way his dick felt when bareback inside of her. He knew how to work her pussy, and he wasn’t hesitant about coming inside of her. Cash didn’t know how to pull out.

  But what if she got pregnant? How would she explain that to Hassan? She loved Hassan, but she was still in love with Cash, and when he came around, Hassan was out of her mind.

  It was going to be another night of fun and sex. The two barred no holds when it came to pleasing each other. The lights were dim, and the mood was right for some sexual healing, with the two long-stemmed champagne glasses and bottle of Moët on the nightstand.

  Cash started to stroke his big dick, teasing Pearla with a nasty show.

  “Let’s have a drink first,” she said.

  Pearla wanted to savor the moment with her lover. The sex could wait, but not too long. In the meantime, she wanted to talk and have some foreplay. She wanted to feel his lips against her skin, his tongue between her legs, and to wrap her hand around his hard flesh. She didn’t want to be taken for granted. Hassan treated her like a queen, and yet her heart was still with a man who sometimes had the mentality of a child.

  Cash looked at Pearla like he would explode if he didn’t get any pussy soon. She walked toward the nightstand, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her in her sexy lingerie, the translucent fabric accentuating her slim, enticing body.

  She picked up the bottle of Moët, which was next to Cash’s .45, and filled the two glasses. Cash stood up from the bed, naked and looking like a dog in heat. He would always be her sexy, pretty-boy thug.

  As she handed him the champagne glass, he smoothly placed his arm around her waist and pulled her closer and then pressed his lips against hers.

  They kissed fervently for a moment.

  “Do you love me, Cash?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Say it then.”

  “What?”

  “That you love me. Say it. I need to hear it.” Pearla looked intensely at him.

  He smiled. “I love you.”

  “You know how much I’m risking by being with you, especially in this house, the one that Hassan paid for?”

  “I don’t want to hear about that nigga. He locked up. It’s about us.”

  “I know. It should have always been about us. I don’t want to be taken for a fool. I forgive you, but I can’t forget, Cash. You hung me out to dry at a time when I really needed you in my life.”

  “Pearla, I was a fool.”

  “You damn right, you were!”

  “I’m trying to make it up to you.”

  “It’s not just about a big dick and good sex. I want some security, Cash. If Hassan ever found out about us, what do you think he’d do to us?”

  “I’m not worried about that fool.”

  “You never worry about anything.”

  “Look, baby, I’m a changed man, believe me. I love you, and I will always love you.”

  Pearla so badly wanted to believe him, but Cash wasn’t stable. He never had been. He was in and out of her life continuously, and whenever he came back, she would let him. But things were different now. She was in a relationship with a dangerous man, and Cash was hiding out from his enemies and moving with caution. His paranoia and pistol on her nightstand was evidence of how much shit he was in. Hassan had eyes everywhere. Every move they made to see each other had to be calculated.

  Pearla was living her life like it was golden. She had everything she needed: money, fine things, jewelry, and a nice car. She pranced around her home that her man had hustled to build. Whenever she needed anything, she reached out to Hassan, and Bimmy or one of his thugs dropped it off for her. But right now she wasn’t in need of anything. She was living the best of both worlds: she had Hassan to support her, and when she needed some dick, she had Cash. It was risky, but the reward was worth the risk.

  The sex was calling out to her. They downed their champagne and wrapped themselves into each other’s arms again. Cash peeled away the lingerie she wore, and it fell to the floor, leaving Pearla in her G-string. Her hard ni
pples glistened with perfection. Cash touched her body devotedly, groping her tits and her butt, and they kissed passionately again.

  Pearla happily removed the last piece of clothing from her body and straddled Cash’s face as he lay back on the bed.

  Cash propelled his tongue inside of her and tasted her clit. At the same time he rubbed and massaged her tits.

  She arched herself back, grinding her clit against his skilled tongue. Cash was eating her pussy so good, she was ready to come all over his face.

  Pearla gyrated against Cash’s working mouth and tongue, squeezing and pinching her own nipples. “Ooooh, baby,” she moaned. “That feels so good. Yes! Yes! Taste it! Yes!”

  Cash was a beast at giving oral pleasure. He made her thighs shake and quiver. The way he cupped her breast and held her firmly, moving his tongue inside of her and focusing mainly on her sensitive clit, had her drowning in pleasure.

  Then suddenly, her phone rang. She could feel herself about to come. She ignored the phone call. Fuck it! They invented voice mail and answering machines for a reason, right? It felt like time was slowing down. She was ready to squirt her juices all over his face.

  As Cash continued with his oral onslaught, Pearla closed her eyes and arched her naked figure even more, gyrating her hips against his face clockwise, both her arms outstretched behind her and her hands flat against the bed, her body feeling like it was about to explode.

  Once again, her phone rang. Then it came to her. It was probably Hassan calling. She never ignored his calls. If she didn’t pick up, then he would want to know why. Without warning, she jumped off Cash’s face and hurried to answer the phone.

  Cash looked at Pearla and threw his hands up like, What the fuck!

  “I need to take this,” she said.

  Pearla answered the phone, and an operator’s voice came on. “This is Rikers Island, and you have a collect call from Hassan. If you accept, please press one, if not, then just hang up.”

  Pearla quickly accepted his call, knowing it was a risk speaking to him with Cash in the bedroom with her.