by India
“Just a few nights if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is, sweetheart.” She rubbed my back. “We miss you around here.”
“All I want to know is why you asking her if it’s okay for you to stay here when you should’ve been asking me?” Tyrone added his two cents, and the room fell silent.
“I just figured since this is her house, the proper thing to do was to ask her.” I politely tried to put that nigga in check. Alicia’s father had paid for this house. All this nigga was doing was freeloading.
“This is my muthafuckin’ house!” He pointed at his chest.
“Tyrone, don’t talk to her like that, baby. Just eat your breakfast.” Joanne tried to defuse the situation, but Tyrone was too turned up.
“You little bitch, did you hear me? This is my muthafuckin’ house. When you’re here, you better show some gotdamn respect.”
“Bitch?” I stood from the table, and he did too. “I don’t know who pissed in your grits, but you better leave me the fuck alone.” I was dead-ass serious.
“You think since you’re a Doesher that I’m scared of you?” He leaned across the table and swung. The fool was obviously intoxicated, because he missed me and knocked the orange juice container over.
“Tyrone, stop it!” Alicia yelled, but then he turned on her.
“Make me.” He swung and caught her with a right hook. Joanne tried to pull him off of her daughter and ended up catching a backhand, which busted her lip. By now I was up in arms and about to whip his ass. I grabbed the butcher knife and went straight for his neck. Hemming him up against the refrigerator, I gritted my teeth.
“If you touch either one of them again, I swear on my mother I will kill you dead.”
“You think you tough enough to threaten me?” He squinted through red eyes.
“I’m not threatening you, Tyrone. This is a warning.”
“Joanne, are you going to let this happen?” He looked at his wife, who was shaking uncontrollably. “Tell her to leave!”
“Please let him go, Janelle.” Joanne tried to wipe the blood that was running down her chin.
“I said tell her to leave!” he yelled, and she jumped.
“Janelle, I love you, and I thank you for looking out for Alicia, but I think it’s time for you to go home, wherever that might be.” She looked down at the wooden floor. I wanted to ask what type of monkey shit this was, but I decided to leave well enough alone and respect her wishes.
“Mama, if Janelle leaves, then I’m leaving too.” Alicia tried to reason with her mom, but when a woman is weak and docile, there is nothing you can do to change that.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, then you can leave too.” Joanne wiped a tear away and ran up the stairs into her bedroom. I stood there stunned and feeling horrible for Alicia. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have your mother pick some nigga over you.
“Call Ace then and let me grab my shit.”
Chapter Thirteen
After getting Alicia put out of her mother’s house, I felt terrible. She said it was cool, but deep down inside, I knew I needed to make things up to her. After two weeks of staying at the Courtyard by Marriott on Ace’s dime, Alicia and I decided we were done being a burden. It was time to make shit happen, and I knew exactly who I needed to talk to.
I walked into the small bar on James Couzens and nodded at the bartender. The place was filled with a few regulars, and soft music played over the sound system.
“What’s happening, shortstop?” Mitch, the owner, spoke from a booth he and a female companion were occupying.
“Nothing much, just looking for Charles.” I went over to the table and hugged the Creole gentleman.
“You know that old fool is doing what he does best.” Mitch laughed. Normally he wouldn’t let someone my age in, but for years his establishment had served as my father’s meeting facility. Therefore, Mitch and I were cool, and I was shown favor. “Head on back, shortstop.”
As usual, my play uncle was in the back room, shooting dice. “Well, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.” He gave me the once-over before rolling the dice. Uncle Chucky was my father’s right-hand man from start to finish. My daddy used to say that Chuck was a stand-up guy, so I knew if anyone was to be trusted, it was him. “What brings you by, young’un?” He looked up from the game for just a split second.
“I wanted to know if I could holla at you about some business.” I shifted nervously from one foot to the other. The back room was filled with about four other hustlers in on the dice game. They were all clutching fists full of money and yelling obscenities at one another.
“Speak on it, young’un,” he urged without even looking up at me.
“I was kind of hoping to have this conversation alone,” I leaned in and whispered into his ear. He looked at me and then back at the pile of money on the floor. I could tell he didn’t want to leave the game and was weighing his options. After a few seconds of awkward silence between us, he finally stood up.
“Aye, I’ll be back. Give me five minutes.” He folded a wad of money and placed it into the pocket of his linen pantsuit. Uncle Chucky was an old-school playa for real. He even had on a Kangol hat with a pair of pointed Stacy Adams snakeskin loafers.
“Come on, Chuck!” one man shouted, obviously disappointed that the game was on pause.
“Nigga, I said give me five minutes. Gotdamn, I ain’t never seen a nigga so anxious to lose his dough,” he replied, pulling me toward an exit door. “So what’s up, niece? How have you been holding up?” He lit a Newport cigarette and took a seat on a blue milk crate.
“I really haven’t been doing well at all. In fact, that’s why I’m here.” I sighed. “I need some fast money, Uncle Chucky.”
“Explain what you mean by fast money.” He blew out a smoke ring and leaned his back up against the brick exterior of the building.
“I’m talking about hustling. I need you to put me on.” I averted his deep gaze.
“You in trouble or something?” He was concerned.
“No.”
“So tell me why you wanna be a hustla?” He looked at me sideways.
“I just told you. I need some fast money. I’m tired of being broke.” I kicked a rock across the vacant lot.
“If you need money, I got you, believe that.” He went into his pocket for some greenbacks, but I stopped him.
“I don’t want your money. I want my own!”
“Get a job.” He smirked. I didn’t.
“Uncle Chucky, I’m serious. I can’t do nothing with minimum wage. I need that big money.” I laughed.
“Big money comes with big problems. You know that, right?” He flicked his cancer stick.
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it,” I retorted. Honestly, this conversation had gone a lot smoother in my head this morning. I didn’t think Chucky would play me like a chump. Didn’t he know that I learned from the best? As a matter of fact, I learned my game from the same nigga who taught him his game.
“That’s just it!” He tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Janie, no matter how big you are, the hustle game has no room for girls.” He stood, indicating that my time was up. “Here’s a few dollars. Come holla at me any time you need something, and I got you.” He peeled off a few bills and stuck them into the pocket of my jeans.
“For real it’s like that?” I blinked back some tears. Now was not the time to be crying like some bitch, but truthfully my feelings were hurt.
“What do you want me to do?” He walked up into my face. “What the fuck do I look like putting my partner’s daughter in the dope game? How do you think Julius would feel about that, huh?”
“If he were alive, I guess we could ask him!” I snapped. “Fuck it then. I came to you first because I thought we were family. But one monkey don’t stop no show. If you won’t put me in the game, trust and believe I know ten muthafuckas who will!” I was done with this nigga, so I stormed past him and back i
nto the building.
Just as I made my way to the door to reenter the main bar, Chucky called my name. I almost kept walking, but then I reluctantly turned to face him.
“Look, let’s be clear, I don’t give a fuck about no temper tantrums. You said you were a big girl, so act like it!” he barked. “You ain’t fit for narcotics.”
“But—” I started to oppose, and he cut me off.
“Just shut the fuck up and listen. You ain’t fit for narcotics, but a friend of mine is in need of a few good hands for his chop-shop operation. His name is Bobby, and he’s over on Mount Elliott.” He grabbed a napkin and wrote down the address along with a few other details. “Be there tomorrow at ten in the morning and tell him I sent you.” He handed me the napkin.
“Thanks, Uncle Chucky!” I smiled.
“Now g’on ahead and get up out of here. I’ll check on you later.” He winked and returned to the game.
Chapter Fourteen
The following morning, Ace dropped Ali and me off at the chop shop and told us to call if we needed him. Upon first inspection, the place appeared to be an auto detail shop, but as soon as the back door opened, we instantly knew otherwise. There were at least ten luxury cars being demolished by men in gray jumpsuits.
A balding Italian man approached us. “Which one of you is Janelle?”
“That’s me,” I answered, not taking my eyes off of the Lexus with no doors, airbag, hood, or tires.
“So who’s the other broad?” His brows furrowed.
“This is my friend Alicia. I heard you needed a few hands on deck, so she’s here to help too.” I replied as the man pulled a cell phone from the clip on his belt. “Is there a problem?” I wanted to know what the issue was, but Bobby held up his index finger.
“Yo, Chucky, it’s Bobby,” he spoke into the phone. “Is this some sort of joke? I asked for workers, and you send me not one chick but two.” He turned his back to us. The call was on speakerphone, so I could hear the conversation. Alicia looked nervously at me, but I knew Uncle Chucky would work this out, so I was as cool as a cucumber.
“Bobby, workers are workers as long as the job gets done, right?” Chucky spoke in his usual calm tone.
“Look this ain’t no fuckin’ daycare center. They don’t look old enough to have even had their cherries popped,” Bobby joked.
“Watch what you sayin’, fam. I told you that was my niece!” Uncle Chucky warned.
“Niece or not, these broads better put in some serious work or I’m bustin’ your balls the next time I see you.”
“Janelle is Julius’s daughter. This shit is in her blood.”
“All right then, enough said.” He ended the call and turned back to face us. “My man Chucky say you two are legit, so welcome to the team.” He held out a chubby hand, and I shook it. “You ever stole a car before?”
“No,” we replied in unison.
“No worries, my guy will show you what to do.” He gave a half smile. “Aye, J.R., come over here,” he called out.
“What’s up, boss?” A young Hispanic male hustled over to where we were standing.
“This is Janelle and Alicia. They just joined the team. Show them the ropes.” He patted J.R. on the back and left us to chop it up.
“First thing first, we need to get y’all some nicknames. In this field, nobody needs to know your government name.” He ushered us over to a small makeshift office space.
“Well, people call me Ali,” Alicia responded.
“That’s cool.” J.R. took a seat, and we followed suit. “What about you, red?” He referenced my skin tone. Most light-skinned women were called redbones.
“My family calls me Janie.” I shrugged, and he frowned.
“What about Jane?”
“That’s fine, I guess.”
“Okay, cool. Let’s move on to the next order of business.” He pointed to several different objects on top of the table. “This is a slim jim. You slide this between the car window and the car frame to open the lock.” He demonstrated how the utensil worked and then moved on to the next item. “This is called a RFID. It’s used for the newer cars with keyless entry because they have weak cryptographic protection.” He smiled like a passionate teacher as he schooled us about grand theft auto. Truth be told, this lecture was sort of boring and I could give two fucks about the shit he was spitting. I couldn’t wait to get out there in the field for some live action.
After about three hours of lectures and demonstrations, we were finally handed our assignments and given the rules. Rule number one: Bobby only wanted top-notch quality vehicles, and I was cool with that. The newer the whip, the more you were paid. Rule number two: everybody worked on an individual basis. That way if you get pinched by the police, he would only lose one worker, not a team of workers. Rule number three: no snitching. That shit was self-explanatory.
Chapter Fifteen
“That shit was dope! I can’t wait to jack my first car.” Alicia paced the hotel room, still pumped up about her new job.
“Calm down, killa. That shit ain’t for shits and giggles.” Ace lay across the bed, text messaging some scallywag.
“I know it’s serious business. I’m just excited, that’s all.” Alicia sounded as if her ego had been deflated.
“I told y’all I had y’all covered. Y’all didn’t have to sign on with Bobby.” Ace put his phone down and grabbed a few of the chili-cheese fries from the carryout box I had in my lap.
“We really appreciate your help and all, but you know it was just a matter of time before that shit got old. Plus, I’m way too independent to let a nigga take care of me.” I bit down on my patty melt then tried to catch the gooey Swiss and American cheese from dripping on my shirt. I swear food from L. George’s Coney Island was the best. It was the closest thing I’d had to a home-cooked meal since leaving Gran’s crib.
“Okay, I get that independent shit, but why y’all niggas couldn’t just get nine-to-fives?”
“First of all,” Alicia started after pushing her Coney dog aside, “this is Detroit, and you know like I know that all the good jobs are taken.”
“All I’m saying is, the grand theft industry is no place for chicks. Both of y’all will be seniors soon. The malls are always hiring high school kids. Y’all could’ve applied at the Gap when we were there the other day and stacked y’all bread until it’s time to head off to college.”
I rolled my eyes at Ace and hit him with the pillow. “Niggas like you kill me. Always hootin’ and hollering about chicks can’t do this and they can’t do that. I bet you a rack that I can hustle better than you.”
“I know that’s right, boo!” Ali gave me a high five.
“One day I’ll have my own all-female empire just to shit on you niggas who doubted us.” I fell back onto the bed and daydreamed about my future success. Although I was only trash talking with Ace, in the back of my mind, I knew I would one day run the hustle. When other kids spoke of being doctors and lawyers, I spoke of being a gangster. Maybe it was my father’s lifestyle or my crazy fascination with mafia movies, but I was addicted to the underworld. Today, it was stealing cars, but who knew where tomorrow would lead me?
Chapter Sixteen
Today was the day, and it was game time! Alicia and I stepped off the bus at the mall terminal like two women on a mission. Today’s location was Northland, a decent mall in a middle-class neighborhood. We could’ve gone back out to Somerset where the rich people shopped, but their parking lot was under high surveillance and heavily guarded. We needed a place we were familiar with and close to the freeway in case we needed to hightail it out of dodge. I wasn’t trying to get caught my first day on the job.
“You ready?” Ali smiled nervously as we headed toward the mall like every other passenger who had just gotten off the bus.
“Ain’t no turning back now.” I tied the black bandana around my head and tossed on a pair of shades. It was eighty-eight degrees today. Otherwise, I would’ve worn a hoodie. Alicia sported
sunglasses and a wig, which made her appear as though she was an average shopper. We both carried big purses, which housed our tools. Although Bobby said he didn’t want any teams, me and my girl threw caution to the wind and said fuck it.
“I’ll start over here, and you start over there.” I showed her where to go. “And remember: only high-end shit.”
Alicia smiled. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
“See you on the other side,” I replied. Without another word, she went off to find her whip while I did the same.
Row by row, I walked the semi-full parking lot looking for something fly to steal, but there were only mediocre cars in the lot. I hadn’t heard from Ali, but I was sure her luck was running about the same. Stealing cars wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and I was burning up in the summer sun. After an hour of searching, I was going to call it quits and take a break. As soon as I was about to step inside the mall, the chrome on this cocaine white 2012 BMW caught my attention. Like a hawk, I watched the driver whip into an empty spot. Casually, I headed toward the car and tried my best to appear normal. Nonetheless, the owner was too busy on his cell phone to pay me any attention.
“Yeah, that bitch fucking crazy if she thought I was just gonna let her take my son to Texas!” he barked into his mobile phone. “I put an end to that shit, son! That ho ain’t ever gonna bother me and my seed again.”
I skimmed him over from head to toe and came to the conclusion that baby boy was a trap star. The oversized white tee, baggy jeans, crisp Nike gym shoes, and diamonds around his neck and in his ears told it all.
Chirp. Chirp. He hit the lock on his whip and hustled into the mall.
The minute homeboy was out of sight, I went into action. After glancing from left to right, I pulled out my slim jim and jimmied the lock. Instantly, the alarm on the Beemer started blaring, so I knew I needed to move faster. Dropping to the floor of the luxury vehicle, I first cut the wire belonging to the horn. Next, I cut red and yellow wires and rubbed the exposed electrical devices together.
