Heart of the Hustle

by A'zayler

  Trymm directed his response to the crewe. “I can charm a woman out of her pussy before she takes off her panties. They buy me shit. I bet all of y’all, one, Kandy with a y isn’t her real name, and two, she wants to feel my Clydesdale slide on her clit and pound the bottom of that pussy till she’s raw.”

  Dallas and Kohl nodded.

  Blitz flicked his tongue. “Women don’t require all that banging. Brothers like you”—he pointed at Kohl, then Trymm—“don’t do shit for women. Dropping a few hundred or a designer bag on a chance to do the unforgettable, to come inside of that, man, that’s chump change.” Blitz’s cell rang. He declined the familiar bill collector’s call.

  More diners exited into the parking lot, which was filled with new faces. The guy in maroon stared at the crewe with discontent. Dallas noticed him. Long as dude didn’t make a move in the crewe’s direction, he’d live to see another day. Dallas placed his palms on the countertop, stared up at the purple, green, and gold Mardi Gras beads hanging high upon the wall among bottles filled with whiskey, tequila, rum, and vodka, then resumed reading the paper.

  “Correction, homey. You mean the unimaginable. That’s one-of-a-kind pussy right there. She’s got her own money. She’s not thirsty.” Trymm smirked at Blitz. “You ain’t gon’ get with that for a few hundred dollars.” Trymm held up his pinky. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Kohl held up the menu to Blitz, then pointed. “You speak out of sheer ignorance, my bruh. Why buy the cow when I can milk her with grits, eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and orange juice, and have change left ova from a twenty to treat her girlfriend, and tip. Do the math. Oh, that’s right, I forgot. That’s your accountant’s job.”

  “You’ve never worked a day in your life, Blitz.” Dallas looked up from the newspaper, snatched the menu from Kohl.

  “I object!” Blitz slapped the menu out of Dallas’s hand. It slid behind the counter. “I’ve never worked a day in my life for anybody else. Must I remind you Negroes, my degree is in psychology? My mother is an oceanographer, and my father is a politician. I live off of my investments.”

  Dallas exhaled. “With the exception of Trymm and his tribe of nine, none of us have siblings. The two my sperm donor had after leaving my mom, y’all know how I feel about them. Blitz, your problem is you don’t respect money. Run into the wrong bitch, you gon’ end up broke.”

  Stroking his chin, Blitz nodded upward. “And what the fuck you call Dupree Seafood? Trymm riding on his daddy’s legacy.”

  “What the fuck?” Trymm’s brows drew closer. He knew his parents wanted to live to see all of their children have kids, and he was the only one single with no kid. But Trymm wasn’t ready for a wife or a baby. “Don’t forget I played professional basket—”

  Kohl interjected, “D, why you always starting nonsense? Your mama left you straight with that fat-ass insurance policy. Worse than disrespecting Blitz’s cash flow, why you won’t collect your retirement and disability checks from Uncle Sam? You earned that.”

  Dallas didn’t respond. He rubbed his face really hard, rubbed his head, then stared at Kohl.

  Blitz commented to the crewe as Mrs. Kandy retraced her steps behind their barstools. “I don’t mind breaking off females—” He winked at Kandy.

  She smiled at Trymm, winked at Trymm’s dick as she kept walking, never acknowledging Blitz.

  The crewe had no words as they each lusted, not for a chance to court the woman in white, but for an opportunity to feel what she felt like, outside and in.

  “Y’all good?” Dana asked. “Trymm, I saw that. Don’t start no shit up in here today with these married women. Take yo’ ass ’cross the street where y’all park, or one betta, to Dupree’s. I heard Walter. You got about an hour twenty to get your ass outta here.”

  Trymm caressed Dana’s hand. “Line up our usual. I’m hungry.”

  “Don’t talk yourself outta this tip, Dana.” Blitz waved a $100 bill.

  “Chump change, right, homey?” Trymm snatched the money, gave it to Dana.

  Blitz watched as in one continuous motion Dana stuffed the cash in her bra.

  “Thanks, Trymm. I got y’all in a sec.” Dana mixed more mimosas.

  “Yes!” resounded from the game room behind the double swinging doors. Inside the small game room, which was a few feet away from the bar, were two slot machines. A man parted the doors, dancing his way to the counter. “Pay me, baby!”

  Wasn’t as though there was a $1 million bonus. But if he’d won $1,000, that could potentially cover all of his bills for a month.

  Trymm eyed his crewe. “I just came up with an outrageous challenge for y’all.”

  Blitz directed his attention to Dana. “I got a feeling whateva dat nigga fixina say is worth a setup. Make it a Hen.”

  Dana reached underneath the counter, retrieved an unopened bottle, plopped four empty red acrylic cups by Trymm, four more filled with ice, and the Hennessy. He poured equal portions until the bottle was empty, then dropped one cube in each cup, enough to chill, but not to dilute the alcohol content.

  Dallas stared at Dana and wondered why she always gave Trymm preferential treatment. Wasn’t like Trymm requested the setup.

  “Give me your ticket, baby.” Dana took the piece of paper from the overjoyed guy. “Wait for me by the kitchen.”

  Kohl tapped his waterproof GPS watch. “Dude, we can’t get faded this early. You gotta clock in, and I have to open up my spot.”

  Dallas asked Kohl, “You been up since what? Six?”

  Kohl shook his head. “Five-thirty.”

  “Give yourself the rest of the morning off, nigga. Drink. Your hookah-lounge-slash-strip-club ain’t going nowhere. Fuck. It’s not as though you served in the military. I did.” Dallas took a huge gulp.

  Kohl stood, stepped behind Blitz’s stool, and saluted Dallas. “You still having them triggers? Flashing on women and stuff? Your problem is you’ve got too much time on your hands. When the last time you choked a chick?” Kohl flinched at Dallas, then quickly sat in his seat on the opposite side of Blitz.

  “Aw, hell no.” Being the fairest of them all, Blitz was not accidentally taking one on the chin. Blitz scouted back, granting Dallas direct access to Kohl’s face.

  Trymm’s eyes grew large. He swallowed a mouthful of liquor.

  “Not up in here! Sit y’all’s asses down!” Dana yelled from across the room as she handed the guy who’d given her his ticket, fifteen $100 bills.

  Glad to avoid having Dallas get out of his seat and whoop Kohl’s ass, Trymm followed with, “She’s right. Squash all that. How about, starting today, we fuck as many whores as we can?”

  “Why they got to be whores?” Kohl inquired, sipping on his Hennessy.

  “Okay.” Dallas stared at Kohl. “Bitches. Like you.”

  Dana placed Trymm’s plate in front of him. Dallas ripped his newspaper in half.

  “Don’t hate. You ain’t never gon’ be me, homey.” Avoiding eye contact with Dallas, Trymm smiled at Dana. “Thanks, baby girl. Breakfast looks almost as delicious as you.”

  Dana wiggled her bare left ring finger before serving the others.

  Dallas glanced across the room at all the pretty women, wishing one day he could have a relationship where he didn’t scare a woman off. Maybe the thick one in denim shorts. Or the other one at the next table wearing a short dress. He could almost see everything she had to offer a man between her thighs. His dick became hard. His heart was good. It was his head that was fucked up.

  Blitz’s cell phone rang. He declined the “No Caller ID” call. Consumed a portion of his drink. “Fuck them, then what?”

  “Man, that’s enough.” Kohl glanced around the restaurant. “Yas lawd. I’m down. I’ll start lining ’em up, and banging the juicy ones in the restroom right now.”

  Blitz narrowed his eyelids at Kohl. “Yo’, ruthless, collar-wearing, Scorpio ass would.”

  Dallas laughed. “Ain’t nothing wrong with calling the Lord’s name. I do it every
day.”

  Blitz wasn’t talking about a priest collar. He was referring to Kohl’s polo.

  “Listen, we bet on tunk, dominos, every damn Saints game. Let’s make the challenge the biggest gamble we’ve ever made.” Blitz looked to his right at Dallas, then left at Kohl and Trymm. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Each.”

  “For pussy?” Kohl questioned. “You done lost all your damn marbles.” He placed the rim of his glass on top of his bottom lip, then flipped the plastic cup upside down.

  Trymm leaned on the green laminated counter, looked two seats down to Blitz. Kohl tilted backward.

  “Chump change, homey. I’m in. Winner takes all.” Trymm held up his glass.

  “Dat’s what’s up.” Blitz scanned the faces of Dallas and Kohl. “I know y’all not scared. This is our last rendezvous of this decade. We are all turning thirty this year,” Blitz said, laughing.

  “ ‘Laissez les bons temps rouler,’ ” Dallas replied. “Fuck it. I can write a check today.” If Dallas lost the bet, with all the money he’d saved not frivolously spending on females, he’d still have a net worth of over seven figures.

  Shaking his head, Kohl thought about the money he’d stashed to open a second location for Kash In & Out. Winning would mean not having to use any of his funds. “It’s not that I’m not in. It’s too simple. I mean. How we gon’ keep count? What about, in addition to banging the most chicks, you have to actually make them fall in love with you?”

  “Y’all might as well cut me a check now,” Trymm boasted, then told Dana, “Let us have another bottle.”

  Dana refilled each glass, placed the empty bottle next to Trymm, then left.

  “And,” Dallas interjected, “you have to dump her ass publicly in front of a whole lot of people.”

  Trymm added, “Or on social media. That’s the ticket.”

  “Cool. But how are we to prove the love connection ’cause y’all niggas lie?” Blitz added, “Let’s scrap that part. Toss in video footage and photos, and both have to be posted on social media.”

  The fellas eyed one another with excitement and certainty that they each would win.

  Dallas insisted, “That shit that disappears in a snap doesn’t count, either. Let’s post pics or videos. We don’t have to do both.”

  Kohl frowned at Dallas. “It has to disappear in a short time. I ain’t tryna get sued. I have too much to lose.”

  Trymm raised his plastic cup. “Double points for live social videos that exceed an hour. Drink up. I’m not trying to get knocked upside my head today. I’m making time to secure my cashier’s check, but one of y’all have to swing by Dupree’s and get it.”

  Blitz quickly volunteered. “Tomorrow, July first, is the official start date. We end on July thirtieth.”

  “And I gets my mil soon as the bank opens the following business day.” Trymm, self-assured he’d outdo the crewe, waved at Mrs. Kandy, who was walking toward the exit.

  “She’s a piece of work and waste of time. My bank is down the street.” Dallas stuffed the last piece of his hot sausage patty in his mouth, then swallowed. “I’ll cashier up my quarter of a mil soon as we’re done.”

  “Me too,” Kohl added.

  “Y’all reconvene at my bank at two o’clock. Trymm, if you’re good on time, I can meet you at your bank now.” Blitz had to have control and full access to the million. Even if he didn’t win, with the right short-term investment of the crewe’s money, Blitz could skim enough off the top to pay off his debt.

  “I’ll get it to you, nigga. What’s the rush?” Trymm stared past Kohl, focused on Blitz. “When y’all lose, I don’t want to hear, ‘No, I had too much to drink.’ ”

  “I second that. We’re settin’ this up with a four-signature authority.” Kohl wanted to close all the loopholes. “Wait, Trymm. Let’s go over all the deets again, and oh, oh, Trymm, you’ve smashed too many vaginas, bruh. Exes don’t count.”

  “My exes don’t count.” Trymm had never smashed any of the crewe’s girlfriends, but qualifying for the grand prize might change all that.

  Blitz grinned at Trymm. “So I can fuck fine-ass Atlantis? She’s not married, but I heard she’s engaged.”

  “Sure. Long as you can handle the ass whuppin’ I’ma put on you, homey.” Trymm didn’t know the one he’d let get away was back in town. And she was engaged? If Blitz was telling the truth, Trymm couldn’t let Atlantis walk down the aisle and into the arms of another man.

  Kandy approached Trymm. Opened his hand. Wrote her number in his palm with a red marker, then walked away without saying a word.

  Trymm adjusted his crotch. “Twelve-oh-one I’ma be all up in that. Ya heard me.”

  Anxious to secure the funds before any of the crewe backed out, Blitz dropped $200 on the counter. “Let’s do this.”

  Everyone stood in unison.

  “Wait,” Blitz said, picking up his cup. “A toast. Let the head games begin.”

  “You a fool, boy.” Trymm held his glass the highest. “I like that shit, though.”

  Kohl nodded. “Me too.”

  Dallas downed the last of his Hennessy, then saluted the others. “Laissez-faire, my brothers. Laissez-faire.”

  Excerpt from Dead on Arrival

  Prologue

  Dawn

  Where the fuck was he?

  I looked at the clock and noticed that I’d been sleeping for a couple of hours. I’d dozed off waiting for Reese to come home so we could talk about where we were going when we left town. He told me he was leaving his grandmother’s house and was gonna make a quick stop at NIT. Then he was coming straight here. So, where the fuck was he?

  Before I could grab my cell phone and dial his number, my phone started ringing. I picked it up from the nightstand next to my bed and looked down at the caller ID. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw that it was Reese calling me.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Did I wake you up?” he asked. He sounded kind of weird.

  “Reese, where are you?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  “I’m about to pull up to the house, so put on something and meet me outside,” he instructed.

  “Meet you outside for what? Do you know what time it is?” I screeched. He was making me angrier by the second because he was displaying some very odd behavior.

  “Please don’t ask me any questions. Just do what I said,” he replied calmly.

  “Bye,” I said, and then I disconnected our call.

  I was furious at the thought that I had to get out of my bed and meet him outside. What kind of fucking game was he trying to play?

  I grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants from my dresser drawer and a pair of sneakers from my closet and got dressed. After I grabbed a jacket from the hall closet by my bedroom, I headed toward the front door. My adrenaline was pumping. I was already thinking of what I was going to say to him if he was making me come outside for nothing. He was going to feel my wrath.

  Blinded by the headlights of Reese’s car parked in our driveway, I blinked my eyes a few times and held up my left arm to shield my eyes. I saw the silhouette of Reese’s body sitting in the driver seat, so I closed the front door behind me and walked over to his car. I was heading toward the driver side, until he rolled his window down halfway and told me to get into the car from the passenger side.

  I obeyed his instructions and got into the car with him. As soon as I closed the door, I turned around and looked at him. “What the fuck is so important that I had to come outside and get into the car?” I asked him.

  Reese wouldn’t open his mouth to respond.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I questioned him.

  A voice from behind me said, “He’s dead!”

  I turned my face slightly to the left and saw an Asian man with a gun and a silencer pointed directly at me. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. Anxiety and fear crippled me as I slowly moved my eyes away from the Asian man, back to my husband’s face. At that moment, that�
��s when I noticed the blood seeping from the hole in his head. I instantly froze. I knew then that this man was about to take my life too.

  Chapter One

  Reese

  I knew Dawn was going to jump down my throat when I walked through the front door of our home. Not only did I not come straight home from work, I didn’t answer my cell phone when she called me over a dozen times, and I didn’t have the $800 I promised her I would have. Shit hasn’t been going right for us these last six months, so she’d been breathing down my neck because of it. To be more candid, we’d been having some financial problems for the last couple of years. Our car payments were past due, our credit cards were maxed out, our light bills had more than tripled, and our home was in fucking foreclosure. Taking a boatload of flat-screen smart televisions, laptop computers, and fur coats here and there helped me pay a few of our bills. It also helped me get into a few poker games at my homeboy Edward Cuffy’s spot, which was exactly where I was when Dawn called me earlier. Edward was one of the senior operators at the Norfolk International Terminal. So far, he’s got twenty-four years under his belt. In other words, he had seniority, so nothing got by him. If anything was stolen out of the shipping containers and sold for a handsome profit, Ed definitely got his cut. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

  Edward was like a big brother to me. He wasn’t a big guy, but he made up for it in height and walked around like he owned the world. He was like Samuel L. Jackson. Sixty-five percent of the longshoremen on the pier liked Edward, but the other thirty-five percent hated him. My wife, Dawn, was one of them. “Did you just come from Ed’s house?” she didn’t hesitate to ask as she walked toward me. I knew she had just come from the kitchen because I smelled the aroma of tomato sauce, she wore a cooking apron, and she held a plastic mixing spoon in her left hand.

  “Why are you asking me that?” I instantly became defensive after I locked the front door.

  “Because I called you over a dozen times and you kept sending me to your voicemail,” she spat as she stood before me. Dawn and I got married two years ago. We dated for a year before I popped the question. When I first met her, she was gorgeous. She resembled the actress Toni Braxton. She was sexy too. Plus, she wasn’t this fucking nagging. I remember when she used to walk around our house almost naked, on a daily basis. Now I can’t get her to take off her terry-cloth robe. She went from looking like a Playboy bunny to a Catholic nun. She assumed on several occasions that I was cheating on her because I complained about her appearance, but my guilty pleasure was gambling.