Dutch by Teri Woods

port vigilantly watching for any unauthorized movement. They had to because the port was a car thief’s heaven. Young
     raiders would drool at the mere mention of the port but never attempted a heist. Security was too tight, tight like fish pussy,
     and that’s waterproof.
    “Word?” said Shock, expressing interest as the whole clique gathered before Dutch.
    “Fuck we gonna do, rob a bank?” Angel asked sarcastically.
    “No, the port.”
    “Port Newark? How the hell we suppose to do that?” Qwan questioned.
    “Because, I been watchin’ them. They slippin’. They think they untouchable and they startin’ to relax. See, four months ago
     when I first started scoping the shit, I timed the security cars. They was coming in circling every five to seven minutes,
     then last month they not showing up for say ten to fifteen minutes, and the last couple of nights, these guys been coming
     through like every twenty to thirty minutes. They even stop and eat. Now keep in mind they done cut back and it’s only two
     cars to a shift.”
    The young clique sat thoughtfully, contemplating the possibilities and the risk.
    “Hell yeah! Yo, fuck it, why not? Shit, I’m wit’ it.”
    “Nigga, you wit’ anything,” Qwan said to Craze.
    “Naw naw, this could work,” Angel said. “They ain’t expectin’ no shit like this right now.”
    “It could, but how?” asked Shock.
    “First of all, we gonna need at least six more heads ’cause if we gonna lick, we might as well make this shit count. Other
     than that, we need a blowtorch and some wire cutters for the fence and the parking barrier. Angel, we gonna get you a pair
     of fire-red fuck-me pumps and a skirt the size of a napkin,” Dutch said, his eyes filled with a playful lust.
    All the guys hooted and called to Angel in a teasing way, but Angel didn’t find it funny at all. She had the young blossoming
     body of a
Playboy
centerfold, yet the burgeoning potential of a dyke, which was still unknown to her young conscious mind.
    “Fuck you, Dutch. Why we can’t put the skirt on Roc? He look more bitch than me,” Angel sneered.
    “Fuck you, bitch,” Roc shot back. He was the quiet before the storm next to Dutch. In the end, Roc would prove to be the deadliest
     of them all.
    “Fuck wit’ me,” Angel challenged him.
    “I’m sayin’, y’all gonna play games or is we gonna get this paper?” Dutch asked as no one spoke. “Now dig, Angel, you and
     Craze are gonna be in the front car. Y’all gonna be parked right at the curb after you enter the port. I want y’all to front
     like you fighting. Angel, make sure you flash ass ’cause we all know security guards don’t get no pussy, ’cause if they did,
     they wouldn’t have night jobs.”
    Everyone laughed, and Dutch winked at Angel. Angel gave him the middle finger but cracked Dutch a little smile.
    “What if they don’t bite?” asked Craze.
    “Then we dead,” stated Dutch. “That’s why the second car has to pull over to give us enough time to get in the BMW lot, so
     make it look good, Craze.” Craze nodded in understanding.
    “As for the rest of us, we’ll be in another parked car behind the lot in the dead end. We ain’t gettin’ nothing but BMWs,
     ’cause the Chevrolet lot got too much shit to be runnin’ around lookin’ for Corvettes, so strictly Beemers. We gonna need
     time after the first car pass, I figure three minutes top to snap the fence and blowtorch a hole wide enough in the barrier
     to get out of. Once we in, we out. Keys sittin’ in the ignition, plastic still on the seats.”
    “Damn, fourteen BMWs. How much is that?” Qwan asked wistfully, daydreaming about cream.
    “My man told me he’d give us ten grand for coupes and fifteen for sedans, so you do the math,” Dutch replied.
    “So, when we gonna do it?” Craze inquired, already calculating that the take would be no less than $140,000 on the coupe end
     alone.
    “Wednesday night,” Dutch announced as everyone