“You’re not gonna tell me what’s inside there?”
“It’s not your business to know,” he replied nonchalantly.
“This is my house.”
“Yeah, you keep believin’ that,” he said, walking out of the room.
Pearla briefly glanced at the area and then followed him. The two went back upstairs. She hated being in the dark.
Bimmy was right about one thing—it was Hassan’s house. Though incarcerated, he was still paying the bills, and he still had control of what went on in the streets.
Bimmy looked at her without saying a word, his eyes cold and intimidating. Pearla stared into them and felt an icy chill sweep through her body. There was definitely something going on with him. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but she couldn’t dwell on it.
“How’s April?” she decided to ask him.
“She’s fine.”
“She hasn’t called me lately.”
“She’s been busy,” he said dryly.
“Well, tell her to call me.”
He nodded. He was about to make his exit. But Pearla couldn’t hold her water any longer. She needed to spill. She jumped in front of his path, glared at him and asked, “Do you have a problem wit’ me, Bimmy?”
“What?”
“Do you have a fuckin’ problem wit’ me? Because I’m feelin’ some deep hostility between you and me. I’m not feelin’ the love, nigga! You come inside my home without me knowing, bring some shit into my house without me knowing what it is. And then you’re acting cold toward me, like I did something wrong. What did I do wrong, Bimmy? Huh?” Pearla had her hands on her hips and an attitude on her face.
He stared at her in silence. Then he said, “There’s nothing wrong.”
“Nigga, you sure? Because the way you’re actin’, you could have fooled me. What? You think I’m not good for Hassan anymore? You think I’m cheatin’ on him?”
“Y’all relationship isn’t my business.”
“Bullshit! Everything I do, you relay back to Hassan . . . like his bitch.”
“Like I said, y’all relationship isn’t my business.” He pushed his way by her and marched outside.
Pearla sighed heavily. There was something going on. Bimmy knew something but wasn’t telling. He had always been the silent and deadly type. If there was a problem, then he took care of that problem. He was the type of nigga who could make a body disappear, or make a statement by executing someone publicly. Pearla was hoping and praying that she didn’t become a problem for him and Hassan.
After Bimmy left, Pearla released another long, deep sigh as she closed her door. It was time to pay Hassan another visit. She had to feel him out. She needed more security. She had to remind Hassan that she was his loyal bitch. If she could give him some pussy while he was locked up, then she would. The most she could do for him now was continue to pledge her loyalty to him and assure him she wasn’t going anywhere.
Six
Cash drove across the Verrazano Bridge into Staten Island nodding to the beat of Jay Z and Drake blaring from his speakers. The sun was still rising, and it was starting to look like a nice day ahead. His mind was on Pearla, as he sang along to the track. Last night was great! The sex was fantastic. She still knew how to make him come hard. Cash’s dick got hard just thinking about it.
But she’d pissed him off though. He felt she was putting Hassan before him. He hated that nigga. He knew he’d fucked up, but he was willing to atone for his mistake. Cash felt that Pearla was the only bitch that truly understood him. Why did he let her go? Why did he push that good pussy and beautiful woman into another man’s arms? Why hadn’t he fought hard enough for her? Why, why, why?
He slid through the toll and continued driving on I-278, traveling deeper into Staten Island. Rush-hour traffic was thickening as the morning developed, and Cash wanted to make it back to his motel room to relax before the good ol’ hardworking and taxpaying people flooded the streets and highways of Staten Island.
He made his way south, driving on Hyland Boulevard, and several minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the Motel 6 nestled inside the quiet community of Eltingville. The motel was quaint and out of the way, several miles from the bridge, and was the perfect place to hide out. The motel was a temporary residence for him. He paid cash and kept a low profile. He parked his car, and, before making his exit from the vehicle, reached under his seat and removed his pistol. He tucked it into his waistband and made his way toward the motel, moving with steady caution. Cash wasn’t taking any chances with his life.
He used his key card to unlock the door and casually walked inside with his pistol in his hand. He flicked on the light. The room was exactly the way he’d left it. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He breathed a sigh of relief and made himself comfortable, double-locking the door and placing his gun on the nightstand near his bed, the safety off. He had more guns in the room and lots of cash. He’d made a lot of money with Kwan and kept the bulk of it in a duffel bag, along with two .9mms and an Uzi.
Staten Island was the last place anyone would find him. The only risk he took was creeping to see Pearla in the middle of the night. But was it worth it? Hassan and Kwan wanted him dead. Both men were deadly and capable of hunting him down. Cash didn’t know what to do. His move for now was to keep hiding out, but he couldn’t hide forever. There was going to be a day when he would have to confront his foes. He didn’t have an army behind him. He just had street smarts, a few guns, and a will to survive by any means necessary. Kwan posed the biggest threat. He was a free man and on the streets looking for Cash. He was a fuckin’ lunatic. Cash had seen firsthand how dangerous and deadly Kwan could be.
Hassan was locked up, but there was Bimmy to worry about. The man was a skilled assassin, and he had more bodies to his name than a small cemetery. Bimmy was a calculated killer with people on the streets who could hunt down a fly on a wall. How could Cash go against both men and live? He needed to think. But, today, he wanted to unwind.
He pulled off his shirt, turned on the television, and lit a cigarette. The nicotine pouring into his system was needed. What a night he had! He took a few puffs while sitting on the bed and staring at the television. The early morning news was on with the traffic report.
Cash had no interest in what they were saying. He finished off his cigarette, removed the remainder of his clothing, and went into the bathroom to shower. He looked reflective in the shower, his head lowered with his arms outstretched and his hands flat against the wall as the water cascaded against his dark brown chiseled flesh.
He thought about his future. He thought about his past. He thought about a lot of things. How would he kill Kwan and Hassan? He thought about Pearla. The sex was great, and she was a good woman, but was it worth putting his life in danger? Although Hassan was locked up, Pearla was still sleeping with the enemy. Mixed emotions poured through him. His life couldn’t go on like this forever.
After his shower, Cash toweled off and then lay naked in bed. He lit another cigarette and went over his options. He realized he only had two—go hard or die. He was certain he could kill again. In fact, he felt that he was becoming quite good at it.
Seven
Pearla stepped out of her house in the early morning, looking fresh and clean. The outfit she wore was stunning from head to toe—a pair of tight denim jeans that accentuated her cute, curvy figure, a black top, and a pair of six-inch heels, her sensuous shoulder-length black hair flowing. Her look and clothes were trendy, but still appropriate for her journey to Rikers Island to see Hassan. She climbed into her Benz, started the engine, and briefly checked her makeup in the sun visor before driving off. She felt dreadful going to see Hassan. She didn’t know what Bimmy had told him. When Hassan had called the night before, he’d seemed okay, but he was a hard man to read, since he didn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve.
Pearla exite
d Grand Central Parkway and navigated her Benz through the Queens neighborhood as she journeyed closer to the city jail. Feeling apprehensive, she figured listening to Alicia Keys would uplift her mood and give her the nerve to continue on.
It was always a battle going to see Hassan, and the challenge started with finding parking. From the guards to the bleak scenery, it was a dismal and dirty place. Every time, the male guards tried to holler at her, telling her how beautiful she was and asking her why was she wasting her time to see a no-good inmate. The compliments and flirting sometimes were rude and vulgar, and they would carry on from the beginning of her visit until she left. She’d never told Hassan about the harassment from the guards, thinking he already had enough on his plate.
Pearla was able to find parking closer on 77th Street, and she walked the two blocks to catch the Q101 bus going to Rikers Island. As expected, the bus, coming from Queensboro Plaza and headed straight to Rikers, was crowded with mostly women and children.
***
The driver steered the bus past the traffic gate, over the Rikers Island Bridge, and onto the island to the central visiting center. Pearla always found it ironic that LaGuardia Airport was next to the jail. She thought the planes climbing steeply into the air from the runway was like a ha-ha to the inmates locked down.
She stepped off the bus with the other passengers and walked toward the visiting center. Most of the ladies on line with her were dressed up as if they were going to a nightclub, some pregnant, others with babies or young children. Pearla thanked God she didn’t have any children.
The process for visitors was long and tedious. Before Pearla was able to see her man, she had to go through four different searches and, once again, endure the catcalls from the male guards.
Sitting in the visiting room waiting for Hassan to appear, she minded her business and averted her eyes from people’s lingering stare. She was a classy bitch, not like most of the other bitches in the place, looking like they had bullet and stab wounds and bad weaves.
Pearla was a beauty queen, and her man was the boss, controlling the majority of the inmates in the room. That thought put a quick smile on her face. If you were going to fuck someone, then fuck a man of importance. That bitches and inmates knew who she was there to see.
Hassan came walking into the visiting room with a few other inmates all in single file. He moved with authority though he was confined and locked down. He was the first on line. It looked like the inmates coming into the area were following him, although a guard was escorting them. His gray jumpsuit fit him well. He had been working out and keeping up his appearance.
He smiled Pearla’s way. She smiled back. He walked her way, and she stood eagerly to greet him. The two hugged and kissed each other lovingly and then took their seats opposite of each other, still grasping hands across the table.
“I missed you, baby,” he announced.
“I missed you too.”
So far, he seemed cool and didn’t appear to be upset. Did he speak to Bimmy? Was he upset with her but not showing it yet? She didn’t want to think the worst.
“Did Bimmy come by and drop off that package?”
“He did. What was in it?”
“It’s best that you don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“It’s my business, and the less you know, the more you’re protected.”
“I didn’t know about the safe.”
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Do you trust me?” she asked him.
“Why you askin’ me that?”
“I just don’t like it when Bimmy just comes by unannounced.”
“Why? You have somethin’ to hide?”
“No! It’s just . . . he looks at me differently—like I did something wrong,” Pearla said, feeling Hassan out.
“You feel guilty about somethin’, Pearla?”
“What do I have to feel guilty about? I have nothing to hide, baby,” she said, looking him directly in his eyes and not blinking, her touch assuring him. “I love you. I’m with you until the end.”
Hassan squeezed her hand tighter. He didn’t want to let her go. He returned her stare, trying to read her soul. But Pearla showed him nothing but passion and concern. Her voice wasn’t shaky, and she showed no contrition.
She mentioned to him, “You know, he was sitting in my bedroom the other day and caught me coming out of the shower.”
“He saw you naked?” Hassan asked, gritting his teeth.
“No! I had on a towel. But he could have. He just walked into my home without me knowing.”
“I’ll have a talk with him.”
“You need to set some boundaries with him, Hassan. I know you trust him, and he’s your friend, but he’s starting to overstep. He can’t just come in and out of my house whenever he pleases. I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.” Pearla pleaded with glossy eyes. She was putting on a great act for her man.
Hassan sighed and repeated, “I’ll have a talk with him.”
“Please do.”
“You’re right. There needs to be some boundaries in our home.” Hassan leaned closer to her, like he was aching for another kiss. But there was no prolonged affection during visits.
Hassan screwed his face at the other inmates’ fleeting looks at his woman. Some niggas were definitely being disrespectful.
“You keepin’ strong, and keepin’ your head up, baby?” Pearla said.
“I’m maintainin’.”
They continued holding hands, all lovey-dovey. Hassan gently stroked the inside of her palm with his fingertips.
Half an hour into the visit, they were laughing and talking, enjoying each other’s company, when Pearla decided to spring something on him.
“Baby, I need ten grand,” she said.
“Ten grand for what?”
She sighed heavily and looked at her man. “It’s my mother. She’s about to lose her home.”
“You never spoke about your mother before. Why now? I thought you didn’t care about that bitch.”
“Poochie’s still my mother, Hassan. And I still have a heart, and I do love her.”
“So now you have a heart for her?”
“She just needs help. She reached out to me the other day. Her man left her and took everything, and—”
“And from my understanding, she was supposed to be forgotten.”
“I try, but it’s hard to forget when she keeps coming around for help,” she lied.
Pearla knew that Hassan knew all about Poochie. Shit, the entire neighborhood knew she was a conniving, loud-mouthed bitch. But Hassan had a soft spot for his fine lady, and whatever Pearla needed, he gave it to her. He knew she’d always tried to be there for Poochie, though she never deserved her daughter’s help and love.
“I’ll have Bimmy come by and drop it off sometime this week.”
Pearla smiled. “Thank you, baby.”
***
Ten grand was nothing to Hassan. It was punk money. What mattered to him was loyalty and honesty. A month earlier, he had given her twenty grand. She said she needed the cash for an investment. She wanted to better herself and dabble into opening up her own business. Pearla wasn’t specific on what kind of business she wanted to start, but her proposition was convincing enough for him to front the cash. A month later, there was nothing. It was all smoke and mirrors.
Their hour-visit went by fast. A female guard approached their table and clearly let it be known, “Time is up!”
Hassan frowned. “I hate this shit. I want more with you.”
“I know, baby. I’ll be back before week’s end.”
He nodded.
They both stood up and hugged and kissed passionately for a moment. Their affection had to be brief.
Hassan pulled away from Pearla. He didn’t want to get a ticket. “I
love you,” he told her.
“I love you too.”
Hassan made his way back into confinement while Pearla had to sit and wait until the inmates left the area. Jail rules. She released a deep sigh. She hated lying to Hassan, but it had to be done. She needed her reassurance. She had to feel him out, and so far, so good. If he’d suspected something, if Bimmy had said something to him, he would probably have gone berserk and not given her the cash.
Eight
Cash sat in his new ride, a used champagne-colored 2005 Lexus ES with tinted windows. It was a nondescript car and something less than he was used to, but he didn’t want to stand out. The Lexus was legit, from the tags to the insurance. He didn’t need the headache of driving a stolen car. It was an easy purchase from a dealer in Queens—a friend of his. For eight stacks, his friend effortlessly pushed the paperwork through, gave him temporary dealer tags to drive around in, and he was good to go.
Parked on Dumont Avenue, Cash watched his father in front of the bodega. This time he had moved away from the liquor store, his usual stomping grounds, to the corner bodega and Chinese food takeout spot on Dumont and Rockaway Avenues. It was a busy area with businesses, people, traffic, and the projects across the street.
Cash sat with his pistol on his lap, as he observed his father dancing, joking, and opening up the door to the bodega for approaching customers. Raymond, aka Ray-Ray, was a drunk and a drug user. He was the same joyful, sociable man that Cash had always known. He was full of humor and wise. Though homeless, he always seemed sheltered with happiness.
Cash knew he had to be careful in the area; it was Kwan’s stomping ground too. The nigga was a heavyweight in the area, thanks to Cash. The two together, while it lasted, had been unstoppable and thriving in the drug game before it all went to shit. For the wrong reasons, Cash felt.
It had been weeks since he’d last seen his father. It was a risk being there, but he needed to see if his father was doing okay. And he was. Cash lingered on the block and smiled. He missed the lingering conversations with his pops. He missed doing for him, even if it was little things like buying him a cup of coffee or putting money in his pocket when he needed it, though Cash knew it would go to the wrong things. It was hard to see his pops begging, dancing, and doing degrading things just to earn a dollar or two.
The House that Hustle Built, Part 3 Page 4
