The Legend of Johnny Hustle: Crown Me King (11 page)

$$$

After making my deposit in the bank, I walked down to the Deuce with the intention of going to hang out with Roxy and Joy.  As I turned the corner, an unmarked police car pulled up on me.

“Hey, Mr. Dinkins!” the driver said.  It was detectives Vance and Jackson.

The two officers jumped out of the car and frisked me.  With my legs spread too wide, and Jackson roughing me up, Vance said, “Mister Johnny Hustle.”  He smiled while lighting a wrinkled Marlboro. “We found out you trying to be king of the square, huh?”

“And guess what else we found out?”  Jackson asked, frisking me rougher.

Vance blew out his smoke. “We found out you ain’t related to Dinkins, and that girl Roxy belongs to you.”

“He’s clean,” Jackson said, disappointed.

Vance smiled displaying his tarred teeth. “We’ll be watching you until we get a big dime dropped on you, or until Mr. O’Brian shows up.  Watch your back.”  He flipped his lit cigarette butt at me and they jumped into the car.

I picked up my strut, heading for the Holland Hotel on Ninth Avenue.  During my prance, a 1988 black 560 Mercedes Benz Coupe flew past me.  The car suddenly stopped, backed up, and came to a halt in front of me.

              The male driver wore a mink jacket and mink hat to match.  When I leaned over to get a better look, his window came down. “Johnny Hustle, right?”

              I recognized him from Money Russ’ party, but I didn’t remember the name.  “Who’s asking?”

              “Man it’s too cold out there, hop in.”

              I sat in the sweltering car and wondered why he had the heat up if he was wearing a mink coat.  Then he commented to himself.  “I can’t stand the cold.”

              Heat Wave’s, “
Ain’t No Half Steppin’,”
played through his expensive speakers.  When the light changed, the man turned to me. “You big pimping now huh, player?  I saw Vance and Jackson giving you a hassle.  Don’t worry, they just nosing around the place.”

             
Cashmere.
  His name went off like loud speakers in my head.  I remembered the image of the short man in all white at Russ’ party, with his hair permed like a woman’s.  I did a quick glance at his clothes.  He was wearing a thick black sweater, a pair of black suede pants, and on his feet were a pair of alligator boots with mink sticking out the top.  His pinkie ring almost blinded me, and his squeaky voice was irritating.

              “Nah, man, what you talking about?”  I asked with a tone of seriousness.

              “I been checking you out since you took Joy from Lucifer.  It’s funny how things play out.  I thought the last of a dying breed was extinct.”  He made a little laugh and said, “Except for me of course.”

              “Nah, man, Joy came on her own with my friend Roxy,“ I said in my defense.

              “Roxy?  Roxy ain’t no damn friend man, she’s a whore.  A great whore who looks better than half the square broads that beat the pavement to go to work for the man.  And since you the one that keep her looking good, and she hands her money over to you, guess what we call that down here in the jungle?”  He started laughing again.  “That makes you a pimp.  P-I-M-P, sure ‘nuff—pimp!  The sad part is you don’t even know it, dog; and that’s why I love you and don’t even know you.”

              He parked the car on Eleventh Avenue.  I saw Joy hopping out of a customer’s car.  Roxy was bending over at another car, advertising her merchandise.

              “So you a pimp and these girls out here is yours?” I asked.

              “Used to be.  I left the street level alone.  And to answer your question, just like you, I’m something a little different than a pimp.”

He turned the music down. “There’s over a million lames who think they pimps.  If they wasn’t selling Crack on the side and living in their mama’s basements and attics, they’d starve.  They’d starve if all they had was hoes.  They whirlpooling so much that they taking care of one chick with the scrilla from the other.  They popcorn pimps, man, straight lames.”

              “Whirlpooling?  Scrilla?”  I asked, filled with ignorance.

              “Yeah, they mind be spinning out of focus.  Scrilla-cash-loot, catch up man.”

             
Got to check out the Avenue
blasted in the stereo, and it was obvious he was a fan of Heatwave and the oldies.  He was no older than I was, but my mind spun while he displayed his wisdom on women.  That’s when I saw his diamond encrusted wedding band and thought he was a fraud.

              “I didn’t know pimps wore wedding bands, man?”

              He put the car in drive.  He drove past Roxy and then beeped the horn so she could see me, and then he pulled off.

              “Pimps got wives, too.  Man, this band attracts more trap than the lottery.  But for the record, I’m married to the game, and only death will do us part.”  He did his irritating high-pitched laugh again.  “I’m a Mack or die, young playa.”  He then looked over to me and asked, “You hungry?”

He drove up 57
th
Street, made a right, and didn’t stop until we reached Fifth Avenue at 59
th
Street.

We stepped into the dining room of the Edwardian Room at the Plaza hotel.  Instead of waiting to be seated, Cashmere sat at a table for six, removed his mink cap, and used his reflection from a spoon to fix his permed hair.

Without me engaging him in conversation, he said, “So like I was saying, young playa.  You and me the same.  I just came up from LA for the holidays, and heard the whisper stream shouting your name.  The only reason I go to the Ave now is so I can stay focused.  You know what I’m saying?”

Before I had a chance to respond, he said, “Ah huh, see, you done came down and saved two street walkers.  Now Joy can’t stop running her mouth about how her pimp got her exercising and eating right.  Y’all living up in the Marriott and you so damn wonderful.  She actually out there recruiting and putting chicks in place so they can send their scrilla to you and be a-okay.”

              The waiter came over and gave Cashmere a break from talking.  He ordered shrimp Veracruz with brown rice, corn, and olives.  For desert, he ordered chocolate chip bread pudding with cinnamon-rum sauce.  He then ordered an 88 bottle of Ramey Hudson Chardonnay.  I didn’t know what to order, but I didn’t want to seem totally naïve.  I ordered Turkish lamb pitas with tomato sauce, and hated every piece of it, but he would have never found out.

              By the time the food was over, and Cashmere was eating dessert, he said, “Like all businesses, I provide a service and my ladies reward me for my efforts. 
My
ladies, like most women, have submissive natures and like to entrust the responsibilities of their lives to me.  Like you, I take care of the overhead, the liabilities, and they compensate me with their loyalty.  Just imagine not having to worry about any responsibilities while you’re being taken care of?  All of us have that child-like nature, and like the father they never had, I give them what they feel they need.  Just—like—you.”

              “Yeah, but all that beating on them, and having them risk their lives all for you?” I said in defense of the women.

              “Hold on, playa!  I don’t owe you an explanation, but the kid ain’t putting his hand on a lady.  Unless she asks me to, or shows me signs that she craves that.  My
understanding
with my ladies is that they gonna sell they body, or they want to be satisfied.  With, or without me.  Prostitution is the oldest profession in the world.  It gives self-esteem to the trick, and power to the lady.  I also don’t see you turning no scrilla down?  Come on—talk about it.”

              “My situation is different.  I didn’t look for women to work for me.”

              “All you saying is that the game chose you and you ain’t choose the game lame.  All I’m saying is, if a man thinks he can choose a woman after the initial meeting, then he crazy.  He got to be compatible, and in the first few seconds, a woman knows if she gonna chose you like them hoes you got did you.  Right now, all I have is women that are upstanding and like to be pleased.

              “Can you imagine what it is like to live in a world where we out numbered eight to one by women?  Why you think we had seven wives in Africa?  Why you think these dead beat dads running from home to home cheating and carrying on with such foolishness?  Lack of communication, playa.  A woman know she sharing ‘cause a good man is hard to find, she just want to fool herself and won’t admit it.”

              He put both of his hands in the air. “It’s called denial.  Don’t—Even—Know—I—Am—Lying is what they practicing playa.”

He squinted and moved closer to me. “So why should I commit to one woman and leave the other seven lonely?  Who gonna love the big mama’s and the ones who know they ugly?  I ain’t forcing nobody to do nothing.  My ladies just want it all, and know that it cost.  With my finesse, I make sure I remove all the pressures from their lives.  Give them what they love, so they can give me what I love—scrilla.  How you different, Johnny Hustle?”

              I didn’t have anything to say.  The man was right, as far as I could see, so I said defensively, “Man, you sound like a preacher.”

              He stood, drank his glass of wine and wiped his mouth.  He palmed the napkin and said, “That’s another kind of pimping.  I ain’t a pimp, so let’s go.”

              We drove around town listening to oldies.  When a Cadillac drove by, he asked, “You know why I drive a Benz and them pimps drive caddies?”

              I didn’t get a chance to answer.  “Because they focus on what they think a pimp is supposed to be.  A little respect goes a long way.  A woman out there risking her life ‘cause she loves you and you beat her with a hanger?  Man, that’s that movie stuff.  A woman is what you make her, if you’re worthy of her trust.  She will sell her body, kill her babies, and jump off a bridge if she feels you’ll do the same for her.  So why is it so hard to make sure she look right, eat right, live right, and have the right thoughts in her mind?”

              He pulled the car over at the Marriott, cut the music off, and in a pleading voice, he said, “Johnny, man, these lames is crazy out here.  I got schooled to the sporting life because I was worthy.  I came out here from Central Islip, Long Island thinking and moving like a young square.  I did a little hustling, until one day, I was over on sixty-first and Fifth. I was rapping to this lady, and Pierre stepped out of his hotel and kept his eyes on me.  I was only sixteen at the time, just a few years ago.  The man schooled me, just like I want to school you.  You already hooked in, don’t try to fight it.”  He looked out the window and pointed up to the Marriott. “That system you got with them women?  You worthy, too.  My teacher is in Cali right now, and after the holidays, I’m going back in February.  I won’t even sell you the game, just let me pull your coat for a few weeks man, because you worthy.  We need somebody to keep the dignity in it.  Just think about it, and when you walk out this door, know that with confidence and a little common sense, a woman will do anything for you if you take care of her.  Stop being a lame man, and be what you were born to be—a boss playa.  I’m at the Plaza when you need me.”  He squealed, “Playa! Playa!”

              He put the car in drive, and I took it as my cue to get out.  I had a battery in my back, and I was anxious for more schooling.  The first person I was going to straighten out was Gloria.

$$$

              The soundtrack to
The Mack
played in my head when I stepped into the suite.  Red was there reading Essence magazine.  There was a pile of clothes in the living room.  Bags from Banana Republic, Mangol’s, Gucci, Chanel, Varda, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Coach were sprawled all over the floor.  Next to them was a stack of shoeboxes in bags from the same stores.  When I looked to the other side of the room, three bags from Lord & Taylor were in the corner.

              “Did a little shopping, huh?”  I asked sarcastically.

              “I exchanged the currency, put it in the bank.  I then caught a vic with a pocket sting.  She had a platinum card, so I did a little shopping for all of us and dropped the other two gold cards off with Marcy and Elexus.”  She pointed with her chin at the bags on the floor. “Those are for you.”

              The talk I had with Cashmere came to my mind. “Then why isn’t it hung up in my closet and put away?”

              Red looked at me in shock.  She stared at me for a moment, then dropped her magazine and slowly took the bags into my bedroom.  I was surprised it worked, but when she returned, I braced myself for her attack.

              “Johnny, this is crazy but, do you consider me your woman, or what?  What am I to you?”

              I thought about the way Cashmere would answer and I said, “You are what I need you to be, and I’m everything you will ever need.”

              A smile cracked over her face.  “Oh, because I like when you tell me to do things.  It’s sexy.  And sugar?”  I looked up. “Just don’t get carried away.  I love you, but I can think for myself, okay?  Doesn’t mean I’m ever going anywhere, but just need you to know I can think, baby.”