The House that Hustle Built, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  “What is it?”

  “I lied about why I went to see April,” she said sheepishly.

  “What you mean? Why?”

  She huffed, “I went to talk to her about what was going on . . . about the tension between me and Bimmy.”

  “What tension between you and Bimmy? About what?” Hassan’s eyes started to fire up, and his tone was becoming more and more gruff. He already knew that the news wasn’t going to be good. He waited for it fretfully. He wanted to know what she was afraid to tell him. He was losing his patience.

  She blurted out, “Bimmy came at me. He’s been coming at me a lot lately. He wanted to fuck me while you were locked up.”

  Hassan shouted, “What the fuck you talkin’ about, Pearla?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you, Hassan. I knew this would break your heart and things would become strained between everyone. I told April about it before, but that’s the reason she started acting differently toward me. I just wanted to clear the air and let her know what her man was doing. I know he’s your friend and y’all grew up together, but he don’t want the best for you, baby. He’s changed.”

  Hassan gritted his teeth and clutched the steering wheel so tight, he could’ve snapped it in two. He accelerated more. He swerved on the highway, almost hitting a car on his right.

  Pearla shrieked. The last thing she needed today was an accident. “Baby, slow down,” she said.

  “Do Bimmy think he can walk in my shoes?”

  Hassan thought back and started to put two and two together, and now it was all adding up. Of course, Bimmy wanted him to green-light the hit on Pearla before he came home so she wouldn’t be alive to tell him what really happened.

  Pearla knew that her lie had just spared her life, but unfortunately, it was going to take Bimmy’s. But she didn’t care; it was one of those incidents where it would be charged to the game. Bimmy should have minded his own business.

  Thirty

  Avery and Dalou were celebrating like it was New Year’s Eve 1999. They did it! They killed that bitch, and now it was payday for them. That meant more drugs, more liquor, and more whores to play with. And for Avery, it meant that he had gained the respect of his cousin.

  “Dey doubted us, Dalou, and now look at us. We gonna get our respect.”

  “Yes, sir! You killed dat bitch, nigga. Blew her brains all over da street.” He laughed.

  “It was easy, nigga.”

  “I bet it was. You called ya cousin yet?”

  “I’m ’bout to.”

  “Call dat nigga and let’s get this money. Fuck it! Ask dat nigga if he got any more work for us.”

  “See, ya a thinkin’ man, my nigga. I ain’t ready to go home yet either.”

  It was late in the evening, and the two men were back in their motel room. The smoking gun that had killed April was on the bed. They were getting high, getting live and loud, and enjoying life. Avery had no regret about taking a bitch’s life. He couldn’t wait to see Bimmy again.

  He called his cousin’s cell phone, but no answer. It went straight to his voice mail. For now, he and Dalou were patient. They expected Bimmy to keep his word and pay them the five thousand dollars owed to them.

  m

  Hours passed, and still there was no sign of Bimmy. Avery had called and left him several messages, but still no call back or even a text message. It looked like he was being completely ignored. Both men wandered around the room becoming more and more impatient.

  “You sure you callin’ the right number?” Dalou asked.

  “Nigga, yes!” Avery was becoming agitated.

  “Then where is he?”

  “I don’t know, but he better call back soon and pay us our fuckin’ money. We ain’t kill dat bitch fo’ half the price.”

  Avery didn’t have an address for his cousin. He barely knew anything about him except that they were first cousins and supposed family. Back in the day, they used to hang together, but that was back in the day.

  Dalou regularly stared out the window and frowned. There was no sign of Bimmy. No truck, nothing. The parking lot was just too quiet for him. He spun back around, glowering with distress. “Ya cousin better not be tryin’ to duck out on us. I need dis money, man. I swear, he better not play us or he’s a fuckin’ dead man too.”

  Avery nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with his friend. If his cousin tried to play them and disrespect them after they drove several states to do a murder for him, then they would kill him too.

  m

  The night went on with both men plotting to rob Bimmy. They now believed that there was more money where the five grand came from. When Bimmy had come by before, both men had already peeped his jewelry, the truck, the clothing, everything. If he had ten grand to give away so easily, then the wealth he probably had stashed away in his home could be countless. They started to plot on Bimmy. They felt that a home invasion was necessary, and they would have to do the unthinkable, and kill Bimmy, because there was no way he would allow them to live after that.

  Avery didn’t care, though. He was desperate. He was hungry.

  So the two men hatched a plan on how to rob and murder Bimmy and his whole crew. They figured that after—or if—Bimmy ever paid them the five grand owed, then they would start to do some recon on him, get as much information as possible. They would follow him home, or to his stash house, anywhere valuable and seize everything he owned. But for this, they needed some extra help from Decatur. To them, it was a genius plan, and with the right manpower, what could go wrong?

  Avery got on the phone and made a call back to home. There were plenty of goons back South thirsty just like them, and they were willing to do anything for a come-up. He told his ragged crew that there was easy money in New York City. Men named Rag Tag, Saul, Bonz, and Billy Dee were on their way north to link up with Avery and Dalou.

  Dalou rolled up another blunt, sparked it up, took a needed pull, sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Yo, I’m horny right now. Let’s go to the strip club. Shit, how much dough we got left?”

  Avery went into their stash and counted it up. “Fifteen hundred,” he said.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, nigga, that’s it!”

  The two men had gone through nearly five thousand dollars cash in just a few short days. But the party needed to continue. Dalou was in the mood for some girls—or more like, some pussy. The two men smoked a phat blunt and then headed out to a strip club in Brooklyn where the girls got butt-naked, and, for the right amount of cash, anything else the customer wanted. That same night, they continued the party at the motel room, bringing back several strippers to fuck and suck them off while waiting on Bimmy.

  Thirty-One

  Cash sat parked outside the six-story tenement building in Elizabeth, New Jersey, squatted low in the old Chevy he was driving. He had a .9mm in his hand and was dressed in all black. It was dark out, and the block was silent and still. It was a working-class area where many folks retired early to get up early in the morning to go to work.

  He peered up at the fifth-floor apartment window with a pair of small binoculars and saw the living room and kitchen lights were still on. She was moving back and forth between rooms. Doing what? He had no idea. She was definitely busy tonight. He took a pull from the cigarette and kept chill, but also remaining on high alert.

  Cash felt he had one up on Sophie and Kwan. That day they were supposed to meet at the Starbucks, he’d followed them back into New Jersey. The stupid muthafuckas didn’t know they had a tail on them. He could have been anyone. Either they were too stupid to care, or bold enough to think no one would dare follow them home, or come after them.

  He had been scoping out the area for days, and on this particular night, she was alone. Kwan had left an hour earlier. He’d climbed into a Tahoe with some goons and drove off.

  He felt salty a
bout Sophie not letting his indiscretion with Pearla go. He was pissed that she lied to him and tried to set him up. Now he would talk to her on his terms. He would have the upper hand, and things weren’t going to be pretty.

  He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it out the window. He waited for the lights to go off. He wanted the place dark, so he could be in the shadows like a ghost. She wouldn’t even see him coming.

  Finally, when the lights to the apartment went off, he checked the clip to his .9mm, and it was fully loaded. He cocked it back, stuffed the gun into his waistband, and exited the car. He crept across the street and made his way into the tenement building, already knowing the building code. He took the elevator to the fifth floor.

  This was what he did for a living, sneaking around and doing dirt in the dark. He was a thief and a killer on the side. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone in the beginning, but everyone pushed him too far. They underestimated him, and now it was time to show Kwan and Sophie how he was able to survive for so long. He wasn’t just a pretty boy with a big dick. He was a street nigga too.

  He crouched near the door and pulled out a pick and tension wrench. He used the devices to apply pressure to turn the lock cylinder. He worked his magic on the door for a few seconds, and bingo! he had access to the apartment. It was like stealing a car. The stupid bitch hadn’t even put the bolt lock on her door. He slid inside smoothly. The place was dark and quiet. He casually made his way to the bedroom, knowing that’s where she would be.

  He found Sophie in the bedroom sleeping on her side, her back facing the door. She was sexily dressed and looking lovely. He stood over her with a foul look. His eyes burned into her sleeping soul. That bitch was misery. She’d betrayed him when she lied and tried to have him killed. Cash felt nothing for her or that baby inside of her. The bitch was poison.

  Something came over him, a violent spirit, and the first blow came quickly and so hard, he almost broke her jaw.

  “Wake up, bitch!” he shouted.

  The punch startled her half to death. Sophie was wide-eyed when she saw Cash in her bedroom beating on her. But she wasn’t a weak bitch who would lie there and take it. She leaped from the bed and tried to grab the .380 on her nightstand, but Cash grabbed the back of her nightgown and yanked her back.

  Sophie released a guttural cry and turned around and swung her fist at him. He got hit in the face, but he didn’t stumble. She swung wildly again and flesh met flesh, and Cash backhanded her. She went flying to the floor and crashed on her side, hollering.

  Cash towered over her and growled, “You tried to set me up! I wanted to trust you!”

  Sophie glared up at him with a bloody lip. “My fuckin’ brother is goin’ to kill you.”

  “Fuck you and him!”

  She struggled to her feet, but Cash kicked her back down.

  She shouted, “Nigga, what you gonna do? Try and beat your baby outta me?”

  “If that’s even my fuckin’ seed, you lyin’ bitch!”

  Sophie frowned intensely. Her breathing was hard. She bit down on her bottom lip and charged at him like a bull, and the two of them started to tussle violently inside the bedroom, knocking over pieces of furniture.

  She tried to kick Cash in his family jewels, but he wasn’t having it. He punched her repeatedly in the face and then threw her to the floor again. This time she landed on her stomach. Sophie howled at the horror of having a miscarriage because of him.

  “You need to stay down, bitch,” he warned her.

  Sophie clutched her stomach. She was seething with vengeance and knowing that she was fighting for her life and her baby. She stared in the eyes of her aggressor. “When I kill you, I’m gonna kill your bitch-ass father next,” she shouted. “And then we gonna find your whore moms and kill dat bitch too!”

  Cash lunged at her, but Sophie had a special treat waiting for him. When he got close, she swiftly smashed the lamp across his head, halting his attack. The lamp left a cut across his forehead. Cash hollered and fell momentarily.

  Sophia leaped up and went for her gun across the room.

  Cash knew he couldn’t allow her to have the advantage. He snatched his gun from out his waistband just in time. When Sophie spun around, her hand around her .380, and took aim, Cash did too.

  But only one shot went off—Pop!

  After the big bang, there was a deathly silence. Cash stood tall while Sophie was lying across her bed, her hands coated in blood as she clutched the bullet hole in her neck, looking at Cash in utter shock. She was scared and she was wounded severely.

  Cash walked closer to her. His eyes didn’t shed his hatred for her. He looked at her coldly and said, “You shouldn’t have betrayed me, Sophie.”

  She couldn’t speak. She was dying. Cash only wanted to give her a beat-down. He didn’t want to kill her. Or maybe he did. He didn’t know what he wanted to do when he was in her bedroom. Something malicious quickly came over him and he acted out aggressively. Now the woman who was once fun and lively in his life was dying right in front of his eyes. There was nothing he could do for her. The damage was done.

  What he could do was save himself from incarceration. He went around the bedroom wiping it down, and making sure he didn’t leave any of his fingerprints. He took her gun and his, and before he made his exit, he looked over at Sophie one last time. She was finally dead. She’d died with her eyes open. He felt nothing. Her murder was personal. He could have called 911, but maybe she would have survived. Maybe. But what was done was done, no regret, no remorse.

  Cash hurried away from the apartment and the tenement and leaped into his car and was ghost. With Sophie dead, it was definitely time for a dramatic change in his life and for him to leave town. But he didn’t want to leave town alone. He had the means, so now he needed his family.

  ***

  The very next day Cash headed to Brownsville, Brooklyn, which was daring, especially after what he’d done to Sophie, but he wanted to see his pops. He needed to have a heart-to-heart with Ray-Ray. Now was the time for them to push forward and have a new start someplace different.

  Ray-Ray was at his usual spot, in front of the corner bodega and liquor store on Rockaway Avenue. It was a sunny fall day, and there was Ray-Ray, dancing the morning away in his tattered clothes.

  Cash drove up in his gold Lexus and honked the horn. He caught Ray-Ray’s attention. The man smiled like always when his son came to visit him.

  With enthusiasm from top to bottom, he danced his way toward Cash’s car and slid into the passenger seat. “Look at my handsome and beautiful boy. How’s your day been, Cash?” he asked genuinely.

  “Let’s go for a ride, Pops.”

  “You gonna take me back to that restaurant and let me see that beautiful waitress again?”

  “I got someplace better in mind, Pops.”

  “Better? Oh, okay. Let’s go for a ride then, son.”

  Cash pulled off the block and made a right, going toward the Belt Parkway a few miles south. If things went as planned, he and his father would never see Brooklyn again. In the trunk of his car was a quarter of a million dollars and a few guns.

  Kwan would be looking to retaliate after his sister’s murder, and no one in Cash’s family would be safe. Lucky for Cash, he didn’t have much family. He had no kids, his mother was a wandering whore, and his father was a panhandling drug addict. But he had to protect the ones he loved.

  Now, he had no idea where Momma Jones was. But she was a survivor too. His mother had never been a team player, so it was going to be hard to convince her to go with them.

  Cash hurried toward the parkway. He glanced at his father. “Pops, what if I was to say let’s get on the highway right now and disappear?”

  Ray-Ray looked confused by his statement. “Disappear to where, son? My life is here.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

&n
bsp; “You bringin’ up leavin’ New York again? Why?”

  Cash didn’t want to hide anything from his father. He hesitated for a moment, gazing out the windshield and looking somewhat edgy. “Because I care ’bout you, Pops, and I want you to be safe.”

  “I am safe,” Ray-Ray said.

  “No, you’re not! Look, Pops, I’ma keep it real wit’ you. I did something bad—really bad, and because of it, they might come after you just to get to me. And these people I have beef wit’, believe me, they’ll kill you and me without a second thought to it.”

  “Murder?”

  Cash nodded.

  Ray-Ray sighed. “Oh, Cash, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  “Something that I can get myself out of. But I had no choice.”

  “And you think leavin’ the city will help?”

  “It’s a start, Pops. I got a quarter of a million in the trunk and a full tank of gas. We can go anywhere—south, north, west—you pick.” Cash was getting closer to the parkway. He wasn’t about to take no from his father this time.

  Ray-Ray sighed heavily. He sat quietly as Cash left Brownsville and headed toward Bedford-Stuyvesant, where they eventually stumbled upon Momma Jones arguing with a couple of teenage girls over some bullshit. Her blond weave was twisted, her eyes were bloodshot, and she had a forty-ounce Colt 45 in her hand.

  Cash and Ray-Ray hopped out the car and approached. Cash was momentarily embarrassed by her appearance. Her spaghetti strap T-shirt left her belly hanging out, her acid washed jeans was several sizes too large, falling off her ass and showing her ashy butt crack, and she had no shoes on her feet. Momma Jones could barely stand up straight, her equilibrium was off. Any second the young girls were about to beat her down.

  “Bitch, you better go and wash ya dirty ass ’fore you get beat the fuck down!” one girl said. “I’m tired of ya fuckin’ mouth!”

  “Suck my pussy, bitch!” Momma Jones stuffed her hand down her pants and pulled it back out. “Niggas pay top dollar for dis ass!”