arrangement.
“Stop fronting; you can’t read.”
“I count good as hell, though.” Dirty stood at the entertainment center. “These eight kickboxing trophies right here explain that big-ass speed knot on your head, and that constant reminder she left on your face.”
“Fuck you. Let’s toss the place; see what we come off with.” A blinking number stole Trouble’s attention as he rubbed the lump on his forehead. He seated himself at the computer and pressed play on an answering machine beside the monitor.
“Aunty Jewels…Mommy and Daddy—” He skipped to the next message.
“Aunty, if you’re there, pick up the—” Another skip.
“Jewels, you’re not going to believe this shit. I’m in jail—” Skip.
“Yo, Jewels, I plugged you in. I got you the—” Skip.
“Yes, I’m with the Department of Social—”
Dirty had a handful of jewelry. “Man, you got to see the bathroom. Play that last message again. Swear that sound like that old-school hustler, Sticky Fingers.”
“Sticky wouldn’t fuck with Jewels. She’s out of his league.”
“Don’t be so sure; look around you.” Dirty motioned toward the plasma flat-panel television and the designer glass and cashmere theme throughout the apartment. “Play it back.”
Trouble mashed the button.
“Yes, I’m with—”
“The one before that one.” He began adding up the total weight of the iron on the bench press. 200…225.
“Yo, Jewels, I plugged you in. I got you the sweetest deal I could on those corporate numbers. Ten stacks a piece. If you cop ten, my connect will throw in all the equipment you need to work your magic. The equipment alone will run you fifty stacks. The only thing dividing you from petty hustling and real wealth is you linking with us next Saturday at the Improv with your paper. Holler at your boy, Sticky Fingers.”
“Told you I knew that voice.” Dirty laid a Patek Philippe watch against his wrist. “They say he’s nasty with a gun and don’t have no problem getting his man in broad daylight.”
“That was in his heyday. It’s official street thugs like me now.” Trouble glanced at the jewelry Dirty gathered and began wiping his prints off of the phone. “Put all that back, and clean up behind yourself.”
“You got me fucked up. I didn’t pull a B and E for the fun of it. This here is me.”
Trouble’s voice hardened. “Don’t get hurt! I’m not about to go through this bullshit with you. Use your head sometimes andstop being greedy. Sticky Fingers is calling this bitch personally. Didn’t you hear what he said?”
“What you know about corporate numbers? I don’t know shit about them.”
“I don’t need to know about ’em.” Trouble smiled, displaying his chipped tooth. “What I do know is how much it takes to buy them, when Jewels is supposed to buy them, and where she’s going to buy them.”
“I doubt she has that type of cash stacked. And if she does, it’s stashed in here—” He pointed to the carpet. “—right now.”
“All right.” Trouble stroked his goatee. “Put that petty shit back, and let’s find the money. If we don’t, we lay on her like bandits and intercept the ball next Saturday.”
Dirty hunched his shoulders and stalked toward the bedroom.
Less than three minutes into their search, someone banged on the door.
Trouble froze; his eyes widened. Dirty tipped into the living room with a .40 caliber pointed at the door. His heart thumped in his chest.
More door banging.
“Ms. Jewels Madison, this is maintenance. We had a tub overflow in the apartment above yours. We hate to bother you, but I’m afraid we’re gonna need to get in to check for water damage.” An old salt-and-pepper-haired man nodded at his balding co-worker.
Baldy unclamped a large key ring from his waist and began his search for the key that would unlock Apartment 302.
Trouble slid the couch back in place and pointed to the fire escape. The sound of keys entering the mechanical
“Stop fronting; you can’t read.”
“I count good as hell, though.” Dirty stood at the entertainment center. “These eight kickboxing trophies right here explain that big-ass speed knot on your head, and that constant reminder she left on your face.”
“Fuck you. Let’s toss the place; see what we come off with.” A blinking number stole Trouble’s attention as he rubbed the lump on his forehead. He seated himself at the computer and pressed play on an answering machine beside the monitor.
“Aunty Jewels…Mommy and Daddy—” He skipped to the next message.
“Aunty, if you’re there, pick up the—” Another skip.
“Jewels, you’re not going to believe this shit. I’m in jail—” Skip.
“Yo, Jewels, I plugged you in. I got you the—” Skip.
“Yes, I’m with the Department of Social—”
Dirty had a handful of jewelry. “Man, you got to see the bathroom. Play that last message again. Swear that sound like that old-school hustler, Sticky Fingers.”
“Sticky wouldn’t fuck with Jewels. She’s out of his league.”
“Don’t be so sure; look around you.” Dirty motioned toward the plasma flat-panel television and the designer glass and cashmere theme throughout the apartment. “Play it back.”
Trouble mashed the button.
“Yes, I’m with—”
“The one before that one.” He began adding up the total weight of the iron on the bench press. 200…225.
“Yo, Jewels, I plugged you in. I got you the sweetest deal I could on those corporate numbers. Ten stacks a piece. If you cop ten, my connect will throw in all the equipment you need to work your magic. The equipment alone will run you fifty stacks. The only thing dividing you from petty hustling and real wealth is you linking with us next Saturday at the Improv with your paper. Holler at your boy, Sticky Fingers.”
“Told you I knew that voice.” Dirty laid a Patek Philippe watch against his wrist. “They say he’s nasty with a gun and don’t have no problem getting his man in broad daylight.”
“That was in his heyday. It’s official street thugs like me now.” Trouble glanced at the jewelry Dirty gathered and began wiping his prints off of the phone. “Put all that back, and clean up behind yourself.”
“You got me fucked up. I didn’t pull a B and E for the fun of it. This here is me.”
Trouble’s voice hardened. “Don’t get hurt! I’m not about to go through this bullshit with you. Use your head sometimes andstop being greedy. Sticky Fingers is calling this bitch personally. Didn’t you hear what he said?”
“What you know about corporate numbers? I don’t know shit about them.”
“I don’t need to know about ’em.” Trouble smiled, displaying his chipped tooth. “What I do know is how much it takes to buy them, when Jewels is supposed to buy them, and where she’s going to buy them.”
“I doubt she has that type of cash stacked. And if she does, it’s stashed in here—” He pointed to the carpet. “—right now.”
“All right.” Trouble stroked his goatee. “Put that petty shit back, and let’s find the money. If we don’t, we lay on her like bandits and intercept the ball next Saturday.”
Dirty hunched his shoulders and stalked toward the bedroom.
Less than three minutes into their search, someone banged on the door.
Trouble froze; his eyes widened. Dirty tipped into the living room with a .40 caliber pointed at the door. His heart thumped in his chest.
More door banging.
“Ms. Jewels Madison, this is maintenance. We had a tub overflow in the apartment above yours. We hate to bother you, but I’m afraid we’re gonna need to get in to check for water damage.” An old salt-and-pepper-haired man nodded at his balding co-worker.
Baldy unclamped a large key ring from his waist and began his search for the key that would unlock Apartment 302.
Trouble slid the couch back in place and pointed to the fire escape. The sound of keys entering the mechanical
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