The young girl rang up the items she was returning. She then looked at Pearla and said, “You know, we can offer you store credit, if it’s something you’re interested in.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine with just receiving my refund.”
The girl smiled to cover her annoyance and continued with the process. Department and boutique stores hated returns. They almost treated you like you stole it when you asked for your money back. Pearla didn’t care. She just wanted the extra cash. She had tons of clothing, purses and jewelry in her closet. She had more clothes and shoes in her closet than she could wear. She was returning a few things, and yet her walk-in closet was still jam-packed with stuff. If Hassan ever came home, he wouldn’t even notice.
After confirming the refund with her manager, the girl pulled out a stack of cash and started to count out hundreds and fifties in front of Pearla, who placed the money in her purse, smiled at the ladies, pivoted, and walked out of the store a proud bitch.
She climbed back into her Benz and headed to her next destination. The exclusive nail salon on West 58th, two blocks away from Central Park, was where the wealthy and privileged went to get the best manicures and pedicures in town. Lady celebrities were known to frequent the establishment. It was where the Koreans could draw some of the most intricate designs on finger- and toenails. Their massages were soothing and treasured, and they served lattes, sushi, wine, and other rich delicacies to their customers. It all came with a price, though.
Pearla pranced into the salon wearing her oversized Gucci shades. Usually, it was appointment-only, but she was a regular and a great tipper. Once she walked into the place, she was like Norm on Cheers: everyone knew her name. The workers wanted her, because she was known to hand out fifty- to hundred-dollar tips for some of their finest designs.
She was immediately escorted to the leather spa massage chair, one of the best the place had to offer. The place was packed with affluent females enjoying treatment from top to bottom. A regular, hardworking woman would have to put up her entire paycheck for a pedicure alone.
“What ya want today, Pearla?” the Korean employee asked her.
“I just want something simple but classy.”
The pedicurist was ready to clean, shape, and beautify her toenails, and then her fingernails.
Pearla sipped on an espresso, enjoying the benefits of the spa chair while her feet were being cleaned. She couldn’t imagine ever giving all of this up. Though she had to fuck a big-time drug dealer to keep it, it was worth it. Who wanted to live poor? Not her.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the fruits of her illegal labor. She did it all, shoplifting and murder, scamming and fraud, even sexing the right nigga to have a lavish lifestyle. No regrets! This was it, how a bitch like her was supposed to live. She was having great sex, but not with her man.
Pearla knew from experience that one day, it can all come to an end, crashing down suddenly like a plane out of a sky. So she was saving and planning, and when push came to shove, she would have enough money to fall back on and rebuild. Maybe leave New York and start somewhere else.
As the pedicurist worked on her toes, she pulled out her smartphone and stared at the screen. She had no missed calls and no unread text messages. She thought about Cash. He hadn’t called. Of course he hadn’t. He was too arrogant to call her. But she thought about him frequently. More than she thought about Hassan.
She wondered how Cash was doing. Was he okay? Why didn’t he reach out to her? Yes, they had a little spat, but they always had a spat here and there. It had been a week, and she was starting to worry about him. She knew the predicament he was in, fearing for his life, not just with Hassan, but with Kwan and other enemies lurking.
Pearla scrolled down to his number and stared at it. She was tempted to call him, but she stopped her action. No, I’m not going to call him. He needs to call me, she said to herself. But her pussy was throbbing and talking loudly. With Hassan locked away, Cash was the only man she wanted to come over and play.
Instead, she decided to scroll to another number and call it. She needed a distraction from Cash. She pressed the call button, placed the smartphone to her ear and heard it ring several times before April answered.
“Hey, girl, what you doin’? It’s been a while,” Pearla said.
“Hey, Pearla,” April replied dryly. “What’s up? And why you callin’?”
Pearla was somewhat taken aback by the antagonism from April. She had always been blunt, though. She ignored it. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was just thinking about you. Everything’s okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“That’s cool. Hey, what are you doing later on? I was thinking, let’s meet up and hang out, maybe get some drinks and have girl talk.”
“To be honest, Pearla, I don’t have the time right now.”
“Why not?”
April replied, “I just don’t. What? You my parole officer now?”
“I was just thinking about you.”
“Well, I got things to do. Me and Bimmy been goin’ through some rocky shit.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, April. You know I’m around to help, or if you need to talk to someone.”
“Well, I’m a big girl. You don’t need to hold my hand whenever shit ain’t right wit’ my man.”
“I know. I was just trying to help. I wanted to treat you to a spa day, or lunch, help you get your mind away from drama.”
“Ain’t no drama in my house, boo-boo, just some regular couple beef. And I’m handling my shit,” April said sharply.
Pearla couldn’t break through to April. April had been acting really funny lately, cold and distant, just like Bimmy.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna let you go. You got my number. If you need anything, just call me.”
“Bye!” April said, being short.
Pearla sighed and decided to shrug it off. Don’t let that bitch ruin your day, she told herself.
She went on to enjoy her pedicure. Kim was doing magic with her feet and her toes. Pearla leaned back, and the spa chair was also working magic on her body. It was hitting her nooks and crannies nicely.
Once again, Cash came into her head. The recent night with him was just too memorable to put out of her mind. Thinking about it had her pussy tingling.
Don’t call that nigga, she reminded herself. He ain’t worth it. He didn’t call you yet.
But it was a losing battle to not think about him. She pulled out her smartphone and once again scrolled down to his number. She stared at it. Her body and her pussy was trying to speak for her. Her common sense was steadily being replaced by lust. She exhaled. She wanted to fight the urge. Don’t call him! He’s a big risk.
She decided to text him: HEY, WHAT U DOIN’?
She sat back and waited for him to respond.
An hour went by, and still no response. Pearla frowned. The thought of Cash not texting her back was souring her mood. Why is he ignoring me? she thought. He gotta be fuckin’ the next bitch. You stupid for letting him inside of you. Is he worth it? She was thinking about all kinds of craziness. The more time that passed with her smartphone idling, the sourer she became.
“I don’t know why I keep playing myself,” she said out loud to herself. She released a deep, irate sigh and decided to just enjoy her day at the spa and try not to think about him. But the nigga was so deeply rooted into her soul, body, and mind, she almost felt breathless without him around.
After two hours in the high-end nail salon, Pearla’s feet and nails were looking like a million bucks. Kim did her thing. Pearla was pleased with the design on her tips—a multi-composition of colorful flowers and roses on each nail, with matching toes. It was impressive. Let the hate start. Pearla smirked. The price tag was four hundred dollars, and she tipped Kim a C-note.
The minute she walked out of the nail salon
, her smartphone chimed. She removed it from her purse and saw a text from Cash. She smiled and quickly read it.
I’M CHILLIN’, WHY?
Pearla immediately texted him back: I’M THINKIN’ BOUT U. I WANT 2 SEE U.
WHEN?
2DAY?
OKAY, I’LL CALL U.
DO THAT. I MISS YOU. DO U MISS ME?
He texted back: U KNOW I DO
Another from her.
BUT I’M NOT GOIN’ BACK THERE AGAIN, 2 YA PLACE. 2 RISKY.
I UNDERSTAND. MEET ME THEN. OR I CAN CUM SEE U.
DAT CAN WORK. TALK 2 U LATER. BUSY RIGHT NOW.
She replied: BYE BABY. CAN’T WAIT.
Pearla was smiling from ear to ear. She walked back to her car in a better mood. It took him long enough, but he finally hit her back. Like always, she had reached out to him when he was the spoiled brat who had started their argument. But that dick was worth it, and she loved Cash.
She climbed into her Benz, once again exhaled, and drove off. She was looking fantastic from head to toe, and she couldn’t wait until her insides below felt the same way she was feeling, and only Cash was capable of making that happen. She was hoping he didn’t wait too long to call her. Her body felt like it was about to explode.
Ten
Decatur, Georgia
An old, brown Dodge Caravan came to a stop in front of one of the many big houses in the affluent neighborhood. Known for its spacious single-family homes with manicured lawns from block to block, Glennwood Estates was a wealthy enclave within Decatur. It was early afternoon, and the area was quiet.
Avery and Dalou sat parked outside a two-story brick home with a two-car garage at the end of a hilly driveway. They were scoping out the place, planning on making their move. The afternoon hour most likely indicated that the residents of the home were either at work or running errands for the day. The place looked quiet and empty, with no cars parked in the driveway or out front, and the block was thin with cars and people.
Avery took a drag from the Newport burning between his lips, the nicotine a substitute for a blunt. They wanted to get high, but first they needed to focus on the task at hand.
“What you think?” Avery asked Dalou.
“Looks perfect.”
“You wanna check?”
“Nah,” Dalou said. “It’s ya turn.”
“No, it’s ya turn. I went last time.”
“No, stupid, it was me. I’m always checkin’.”
“Bullshit!”
“You da bullshit!”
They started to bicker in the front seat of the caravan. A crowbar, gloves, masks, and other tools used for burglary sat on the rear seat. Avery took a few more pulls and shared the cigarette with Dalou. Both men stared at the front entrance to the house.
Dalou said, “One of us needs to make sure.”
“Rock, paper, scissors,” Avery suggested.
“Fine!”
“Rock, paper, scissors says shoot!” Avery exclaimed.
Both men shook their fists in the air and simultaneously formed one of three shapes with their outstretched hand. Both men formed rock.
“Damn, you cheatin’!” Avery hollered.
“Nigga, you cheatin’. Again,” Dalou said.
“Rock, paper, scissors says shoot!”
Avery formed paper, and Dalou formed a rock. Avery laughed and said, “Ha, paper wraps rock. You check.”
Dalou said, “You fuckin’ cheater!”
“What am I? A mind-reader?”
Dalou sighed.
“Nigga, we need dis money. How else we gon’ get to New York?” Avery asked.
“Yeah, whatever!”
Dalou climbed out of the Caravan. He took a quick glance at his surroundings and marched toward the front door. He went up the concrete steps and stood between the thick shrubs, which concealed his identity from the neighbors in case they were peeking from their windows.
He took a deep breath and knocked on the front door. What would he say just in case someone answered? He came up blank. He knocked again, but no one came to the door. It was the perfect time. Dalou turned to face Avery and gave him the thumbs-up.
Avery smiled. He collected their tools from the backseat and hurried toward the house. Both men hurried toward the backyard, scaling a short white fence and moving toward the back door. No dogs. Perfect! The backyard was cluttered with trees and bushes, providing the perfect cover for them as they implemented their break-in.
They went onto the short patio with its glass sliding doors. Avery and Dalou had committed the act plenty of times and it had become routine. Avery pulled out the crowbar and went to work on the doors, while Dalou stood as lookout. Avery quickly forced the glass doors open, and they hurried inside. The first thing they looked for was an alarm panel. Lucky for them, there was none. That meant no police.
“Let’s hurry up and do this. You take upstairs, I’ll check down hurr,” Avery said.
Dalou nodded.
Both men wore gloves and carried a knapsack. Dalou rushed upstairs. The house was nicely furnished. There was a large flat-screen in the living room, but it was too big to carry, and an item like that created too much attention if they were to move it out the front door. They were going for the little things of value: jewelry, cash, watches, anything they could put into their knapsacks.
Dalou went straight for the master bedroom. He turned over the mattress and looked under the bed. He went into the walk-in closet and found jewelry and cash, plus some credit cards. Everything went into his bag. Then he went into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinets and looked for prescription pills, and hit payday. Pills were easy money.
Avery searched around downstairs. He tore the kitchen and living room apart looking for electronics, credit cards, and personal information. He placed an X-Box and a few games into his knapsack. He found a cell phone. Then he removed some china and silverware from the cabinet.
Dalou came downstairs and smiled at Avery. “Yo, it was definitely payday upstairs,” he said.
After they gathered everything they needed, they rushed outside via the back door and rushed toward their vehicle. Avery got behind the wheel, and he put the van into drive and was ghost. It took them no less than twelve minutes to get in and out of the home. It was an easy score.
***
After fencing everything they stole from the Glennwood Estates home, they received five grand for everything. They were expecting more, but their fence reminded them that stolen goods were harder and riskier to move, although it was valuable stuff. Five grand was better than nothing. They had more than enough to fund their trip to New York to carry out their contract.
“Ya wanna hit da strip club tonight?” Dalou asked. “Shit, we got more than enough for New York.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
The strip clubs in Atlanta were some of their favorite places to be, where they could enjoy the scenery and overindulge in liquor and beer. Onyx on Cheshire Bridge Road was three hundred and sixty degrees of nudity, and girls with the most acrobatic pole skills.
Avery and Dalou had front row seats to all the flesh they desired. Having twenty-five hundred a piece, they were ready to tip the girls handsomely. Girls, girls, girls—they were everywhere in the energetic club, the front, in back, above and even below. Women in all stages of expression in every position, and with every body part moving seemingly independently of the rest. The music was loud and upbeat, and the place was swarming with men.
Avery clutched fistfuls of singles and fives. He was downing Patrón like it was water and lusting after every dancer that worked the stage, his eyes transfixed on their voluptuous bodies as they twerked perfectly. Dalou was becoming a drunken mess himself, tossing money at the girls and shouting obscenities.
Now that they had money to flaunt and we
re making it rain on the stage, both men felt they could do whatever they wanted inside the club.
One stripper had Avery’s undivided attention. Strawberry Alice was a dynamite woman with a mocha complexion and Coke-bottle shape. Everything on her was flawless. She was one of the classiest girls in the place, with long hair and no stretch marks.
Avery was in love with her. He threw a hundred dollars in singles her way, and the money floated everywhere in a cloud of green. He hollered her way. “Yo, beautiful, won’t ya come ride dis dick tonight?”
She ignored him and continued dancing.
It was mostly well-dressed clientele inside of Onyx. Avery and Dalou were the oddballs. Avery threw more money her way and downed his umpteenth shot of tequila.
“I think she likes you,” Dalou said. “Look how she’s shakin’ her ass for ya.” He laughed.
The two men had always been local troublemakers. They started fights and sometimes performed robberies on drunken patrons leaving the club. Though they were never caught doing the crime, everyone knew it was them. They always reeked of foul play. Their reputations were tarnished from club to club. The bouncers were watching them, already on standby for the inevitable to happen.
“Yo, bitch, why you dissin’ me?” Avery shouted. “C’mere!”
She turned her nose up at him. Instead, she gave her naked time to the more respectable gentlemen inside the club. It was mostly well-dressed clientele inside of Onyx. Avery and Dalou were the oddballs.
“Damn, Avery! Why ya girlfriend rejectin’ you, huh? Ain’t you spent enough on that bitch for a dick suck?” Dalou laughed again.
“I know, right?”
Avery stood up and tossed more money her way. He shouted, “Hey bitch, my money ain’t good enough in dis club? Ya not tryin’ to fuck wit’ me, huh?”
“She ain’t, nigga.”
Out of nowhere, Avery rushed onto the stage and grabbed Strawberry Alice by her wrist, jerking her in his direction. She stumbled in her clear stilettos and screamed, leaving the regulars in shock.
The House that Hustle Built, Part 3 Page 6
