Around the Way Girls 9 (23 page)

by
T.C. Littles

“Hey, Mike, man, ya might wanna go in there. I heard a few shots.” Spook walked across the street seeing his niece burn rubber on two wheels around the corner.

Not wasting another second, Mike grabbed the pistol from his waistband, busting the window out. Shattering glass everywhere, knocking the remaining pieces of broken glass from around the frame, the fact that no one from inside screamed at him entering the house like a madman sent an eerie sensation up his spine. “Keep a lookout, Spook.”

Climbing in, Mike wasn't prepared for what he saw. Running to her side, he grabbed up his only flesh and blood cousin, holding her dead body. “I'ma send her your way,” he whispered and closed her eyes knowing exactly who was responsible. Not giving a ghetto fuck about the one other body laid out only a few inches from them, he kicked ol' boy out of pride knowing he had to have been the reason behind all of this.

 

“Could you please shut up and drink this damn bottle?”

The young mother next to me shoved a plastic bottle with a dirty nipple into her infant child's mouth despite the milk streaming out onto her chubby cheeks, which had rashred chubby cheeks. More like a rhetorical question, irritated that the baby wouldn't stop screaming and crying, the young, inexperienced mother flipped her daughter over onto her lap in an attempt to rock her to sleep.

“Sorry, she got a fever and shit but my petty-ass caseworker cut her Medicaid off. Otherwise, we'd be at the hospital.”

Looking at me for pity, I was too busy holding my breath at the pissy smell of the obviously soiled diaper. “Oh, you cool, it's nothing,” I lied, making sure my Textgram posted letting people know I'd be doing check stubs today on special. Looking up, hoping to see another seat in the overcrowded Department of Human Services office, I wanted to be anywhere but near this musty broad and her crying kid. “I'll save your seat if you want to go change her.” I came up with a quick alternative for getting a break from the strong, offensive smell.

“Oh naw, she got two more times to pee in this diaper. Until my cash gets cut back on we struggling,” she explained as she continued to shake her knee, not making the little girl any less cranky. “I ain't got it like that.” She laughed.

“Damn, that's all bad.” I shook my head but not feeling sorry for her. In my life, emotions were reserved for the weak and I was far from that. “I know somebody who gets down with Walmart cards if you need to get a case of diapers or whatever when your worker gets your case right.” Seeing an opportunity to get money, I knew the ghetto girl was just as wrapped tight in getting a hood scheme as I was into pulling one off.

“Oh straight up? That's what I'm talking about! Hell to the yeah. I need one of those bitches like right now!” Sitting the whining child into the filthy stroller, she pulled out her refurbished Android to input the number she thought I was about to give her.

“How much you trying to spend on a card? Double that to spend.” I put her down on the scheme, knowing I was ready to deliver.

“You got the hookup like that?” Her eyes brightened. “I've got twenty-five dollars on me now, so what's up?”

Normally people who got down with scams didn't dabble in petty amounts, but I took it all. You could come to me with ten bucks looking for a hookup and I'd find you one. “Then you'll have a card worth fifty dollars that you better get to as soon as you leave this dungeon.”

“Let me get your number, too. I can keep in contact and spread the word. This was a real good look.”

“Yeah, lock me in. I gets down but this is not the place for me to run down my resume.” Cutting our conversation short I really wasn't interested in her smelly, germ-infested kid or if her woes were worked out. I'd gotten her money and a person to refer me to others; she could peace be gone for all I cared. I was like a vulture when it came to hustling. And by it being the first of the month, I was scoping for money spenders in all forms: big bank, little bank, or borrowed bank. I wanted it all.

“Tandalaya Jenkins!” The door opened as a big-bellied black woman popped out with a manila folder in hand. “Tandalaya Jenkins!” Shouting with crumbs falling from her mouth, the alleged “better than us” social worker tapped her foot with little patience.

“Here I go, I'm coming,” she yelled, jumping up, struggling with her grimy belongings and reeking daughter.

I blatantly held my nose, catching a whiff of her musk and funk as she moved around.
I hope her trifling ass gets some soap and deodorant off that card, too.

“Thanks, girl. I'm about to jump fly tonight.” She looked over her shoulder, continuing to huff toward the door like she could read my mind.

“Uh, uh, okay,” I half replied, finally able to breathe since she was out of nose reach. Watching the young girl waddle to her worker and behind the closing door, I glanced at the wall clock hoping my worker would be appearing next. Sitting back in the orange plastic waiting chair, I didn't know how much more of this poor-people place I could stomach. Even though it was only 8:15 in the morning, as usual the DHS was turned up live with scallywags, loud snot-nosed kids, lazy bums, and even a few homeless people waiting to get turned down for not having an address. Dressed in pajama pants, a pair of Ugg boots I'd lifted out of Nordstrom, and a North Face fleece jacket, I smacked loudly on my chewing gum, agitated that I had to be here.
My worker be on that straight bullshit with these early appointments. I can't take it with her! I could've dropped this shit in the drop box and been back in my bed by now.
Continuing to watch the scene, shaking my head at the rainbow of ratchetness that was flooding through the doors, I couldn't wait to turn these papers in and get up out of here. For some reason or another, even though we were all from the same hood, cut from the same cloth, I considered myself to be too good for this.

“Corielle Greene!”

“It's about time,” I mumbled under my breath, seeing my assigned caseworker swing the door open scanning the crowd. “Yup.” I jumped up not missing a beat. Rushing over with my paperwork out in hand, I was hoping she'd just take it like times before, letting me be on my merry way. But something about her tight lips, twisted face, and rolling eyes told me I was in for a war this go-around.

“Good morning, Ms. Donahue,” I intentionally greeted her, playing the role but not knowing what her problem was.

“Good morning, Miss Greene.” She kept it formal, holding the door open for me to walk through. “Right this way.” Leaving me behind to trail her, I instantly caught an attitude at how arrogant and snobbish she was coming across.

I ain't in the mood for this paper-pushing bitch today. Please, Lord, don't let her try me this morning.
Wishing I would've hit the blunt a little harder or longer before getting out of the car with Nique, I held my head low, trying to get my game face right for front game ahead of me.
Be cool, don't let her funky attitude get you rowdy. Be easy and be out.

Going into her cubicle as usual, she offered me a seat before sitting down on the other side of her desk, typing into her computer. Plopping down in the chair, I unfolded the paperwork I had Nique fill out and forge so the handwriting wouldn't come close to mine, along with the generic check stubs I made, and placed them onto her desk. “Here's the stuff you wanted completed and returned. You can keep the original; I've already made a copy.” From here my shit looked top-of-the-line official. Knowing I was testing the system, running the same game I'd been winning at for years, I tried playing her by having all my forms prepped for easy acceptance. With every line complete, each signature present, and no scratch-outs for her to verify and have me initial off on, once again my fraud game was on point . . . or so I thought.

Looking down at the papers then back up at me, she laughed under her breath, instantly pissing me off. “I'm not going to be able to use those forms, Miss Greene.”

“Excuse me? What you mean you can't use these forms? Why the hell not?” Losing my cool, before I knew it my voice was carrying throughout the back area. Even ol' musty Tandy turned around at my outburst.

“All recipients receiving cash and food benefits must recertify, Miss Greene. Part of my job is to verify all information submitted to me, which I did.” Hitting the print button, her grin grew wide. “And from taking a quick glance at what you've presenting, they're not legit.”

Oh hell naw.
She had me in a trick bag.
Think quick, Cori, think quick!
“Ain't nothing about this right here fake. You got me fucked up.” I decided there was no other choice but continue with my lie.

“I'm gonna have to ask you to calm down. If not, I'll call security to have them escort you out of the building.” Cool and collected, she wasn't the one getting ready to go down for welfare fraud.

“Yeah, whatever. Like I said, ain't nothing about these papers fake or fraudulent so get your life.”

Sliding her proof across the desk, her slick, government-working behind had clearly gotten one up on me. “Come on now, Miss Greene, cut out the shenanigans already. We both know what's going on, and that you've been illegally getting food stamps in addition to cash assistance for probably your entire time on record.”

Snatching them up with attitude, intentionally knocking over the picture frame of her and some mangy mutt, I began to scan over the shelter verification form that was much different from the one my girl Ta'Nique hooked up. My landlord unknowingly snitched me out to this white bread–acting caseworker about my subsidized rent and included utilities. Milking the system as I knew it was coming to an end. “Well no wonder you acting all funky and shit. You done pulled a whammy so you feeling yourself.”

“I'm just doing my job. So you know I'll be calling your place of employment to verify hours worked, et cetera. I must be very thorough in detail as to why I'm closing your case; just following protocol.” She picked up my fake stubs already knowing the real deal.

I couldn't take her being happy at my expense. I'd never been the type of broad to let other girls get ego or big feelings at the cost of my reputation. Never that.
I see she wants it with me.

“Fuck you think? You ain't calling shit. You can shove that punk-ass two hundred dollars in food stamps and two hundred dollars in cash once a month up your tight asshole.” Snatching my stubs from her now shivering hands, I was in rare form ready to turn up. “I oughta punch you dead in the face for fucking with me, lady.” Pushing her chair back, standing up, on point with my reflexes, I snatched off my Cartier hoop earrings ready to scrap it out on government property. “You want it, bitch, what?”

“Security,” she yelled, backed up against the file cabinet, shook up. “I need immediate help.”

“Yeah, security, come save this ho.” Knocking over a few more trinkets on her desk, I hawked up a big glob of saliva and spit right on top of her computer keyboard. “I'll catch your scary ass on the flip side, trust.”

By the time the slow, fat security guard showed up to her rescue, I'd gathered my falsified papers up and was passing him up the walkway. No way in hell was I getting ready to face charges behind clowning at DHS. Ms. Donahue was going to be forced to meet me on my turf.

“Damn, girl, it's about time.” Nique started the car as I slid into the passenger seat, fuming.

“That slick bitch had the nerve to call me out on having bogus paperwork,” I yelled, grabbing the tail of Kush from the car's ashtray. Hyperventilating, pissed to be caught off my square, I needed to get some weed in me quick.

“Whoa. Slow down . . . What?” Nique was just as caught off-guard as me. “What in the hell happened in there?”

“She had one up on me, that's what,” I yelled, aggravated to the point of wanting to ram my fist through the windshield. “You know I can't stand a bitch playing me for a fool, Nique. And she got down on ya girl real good.” Pulling on the blunt hard, I felt my lungs almost collapse at the impact of the thick smoke. I needed the downer bad. Blowing out the leftover smoke into Nique's beat-up Taurus, I continued with the story, giving my girl a play-by-play of what went down.

“Wow. Mr. Goldstein foul for that anyway. If he can call for some head in exchange to take money off the rent, he could've called for that.”

“That's what I'm saying. But she's dirty for even taking it that far. It ain't like it's her money that's loading on my bridge card ever' ninth. I hate heffas who overdo their job.”

“Girl, that's why I ain't even tried messing with they ass; I don't see how you did it for this long,” she said as she shook her head.

“Don't even start. It is what it is. But I'm ready to get with her ass for busting me out like that. That was uncalled for.”

“True that. So why you over here being all irri like she can't get handled? That heffa on every social network just like everybody else. You better do your research so we can creep on her.”

Nique had a point. I had to give my girl props. We were a pair of criminally minded chicks who only knew how to handle our beefs and vendettas in the street.

“Besides, Mr. Goldstein will go back on whatever it was he sent with, probably just a hand job,” she continued, knowing that was the last thing I wanted to do.

“You think that didn't cross my mind? I thought about that first; that's why I went plum nigga nuts up in there.” The mere mention of his name had me getting excited all over again.

“Well, slow down, boxer.” She laughed, pulling out of the tight parking spot. “Don't forget we've gotta hit this beauty supply right quick so you've gotta have your game face on.”

“Aw, man, that totally slipped my mind. Ms. Donahue's hating behind has gotten me all twisted up.”

“Um, then get up out of those knots, boo. You know my first client is at eleven, Cori. We need to get my products stocked more than ever now. So shake whatever voodoo hex that lady put on your morning so we can get to work.”

“Oh no doubt, let's be there. I've gotta stock up on some makeup anyway. Your cousin's party is tonight so I've gotta be cute for him.” Grabbing my phone to send him my usual good morning text, I hoped he was up on the early worm chase so he could start a private convo with me.

“Before you start your morning cake and bake session with his bogus behind, why don't you get at Wally about getting some work? With your caseworker tripping, I'm assuming we won't be eligible to get emergency state assistance for shutoffs or evictions. We need to make another guaranteed line on money.”