The Legend of Johnny Hustle: Crown Me King (4 page)

PeeWee snapped the wire, handed me the wire cutters, and detached a small plastic alarm with the small screwdriver.  Without hesitation, I checked for my size, snapped the wire, and did the same.  While I was snapping the lock, PeeWee worked on a second coat.  Once the second coat was secure, he took off at top speed—I was right behind him.  When he reached the main door, he slowed down.  Gently, he closed the door behind us, and took off at stop speed.  We didn’t stop until we reached a pile of boxes.

We were a few paces before the view of the video cameras.  All three coats went into a box.  The box then went onto a cart.  When we were closer to the security guard, we made a left in the huge basement. We entered an employee bathroom with the cart and the boxes.

Pee Wee stepped in and removed a full garbage bag from the chrome can.  He then reached in and pulled out two plastic garment cases.  Hurriedly he placed the suits flat in the case.  He then removed the shoes from the boxes and put them in the bottom of the cases.  With the three mink coats, he instructed me to lay them flat in the other luggage case.  Quickly, I did what I was told.  Once everything was put away, he folded the case over his arm.  With his hands, he instructed me to do the same with the other.  We walked out of the bathroom as calm as could be.

Stepping strong like two the hard way, we bopped towards the light shining in from the loading dock.  In a hundred paces we were home free.  While looking out into the street, I thought of how easy we pulled the robbery off.  Suddenly, I felt a hand grab me, pulling me down until I landed on my butt.  When I bounced on the ground, PeeWee was next to me.  He pushed a large cart to block us from what was coming.  The Jamaican security guard and a White man with glasses were looking all over for the men from Central Office.  They hadn’t discovered that the furs were missing.  They looked too confused, and no alarms went off.

With our backs against the carts, and our butts on the stolen merchandise, I tried to slow my heart down.  The two men who were looking for us were right over and behind us.

“I’m telling you, boss; two man here from Central Office and dem want you,” said the security guard.

“Well, tell them to find me.  They probably went to my office anyhow,” came from the supervisor with the glasses—to my relief.

Once the coast was clear, we headed out the door.  PeeWee smacked the giant sized security guard’s hand, and we headed across town in a hurry.

$$$

“So this is your hustle, huh?  Boosting in the basement?  I could have made a bigger score doing pocket stings,” I arrogantly stated while in the back of a speeding taxi going downtown.

PeeWee looked at me like I was a fool. “Nah, this is just the props to my hustle.  It’s just that as a hustler, I can’t see myself paying for any damn thing when I know I can outthink someone else for it.”

“Yeah, alright, but the risk is…”

He removed two coats out of the case and the taxi stopped. “Put these on while you step out the car, and let’s go.”

We were at 47
th
Street at Sixth Avenue in the heart of the Diamond District.  We got out the taxi with the minks on.  The way the pedestrians looked at us, I felt like a star in the middle of midtown.

              The cab pulled away and we went into the Shenoa & Company jewelry store.  When the man behind the counter saw PeeWee, he looked at the man, held up the case, and said, “Ira, I got something for you.”

              Ira removed his jeweler’s loupe while PeeWee and I walked into his private office.  We had a seat and Ira walked in behind us. “How much?”

              “Four large.”

              “Four large?  I better love it,” Replied Ira while PeeWee removed the mink from the bag.

              “Very nice,” said the jeweler, rubbing his hands over the fur.  He reached into his pocket, removed a small mint of bills, and said, “Three large and we have deal.”

              “Man, oh man, you owe me big man,” came from PeeWee.  “The day I get married you better throw in something for the bride.”  He continued, handing over the coat and standing so he could accept the payment and leave.

On the way out, PeeWee turned to me. “If you need three, ask for five, because doing business with a Jew means the price is going down.”

              When he finished his statement, I wondered if he had ever done any business with Snow.

              We stepped out into the street.  Another taxi stopped for PeeWee with no problem.  Eventually, the cab stopped at the Hilton hotel.  PeeWee stopped me from getting out of the cab.  He reached down to the case, and removed the suits and shoes that belonged to him.

“Meet me here tomorrow at ten in the morning.  Wear the best suit and make sure you wear the mink.  It adds to the image I need you to have.”

              He slammed the taxi door.  On my ride across town, I wondered what PeeWee had in store.

11

Red

              I awoke the next morning with Roxy lying in my arms.  A bankroll of cash awaited me on my nightstand.  I had no idea when she came in.  For a woman who had been in the streets all night, she smelled like a bouquet of flowers instead of someone who had been turning tricks. 

              Roxy was flawless that way.  I learned that no matter what the situation, she kept herself looking like a shining star.  I tried my best not to judge her for what she did, but it was hard to act like she wasn’t putting herself at risk.  After Crissy, love was never going to be possible anyway.

              I eased out of bed early, preventing Roxy from waking.  By the time I was dressed, she was just getting up.  As I walked out of the suite, she rushed to get ready for her hustle.  Her enthusiasm reminded me that the hustle was flowing deep through our blood.

$$$

The Hilton Hotel was where PeeWee called home.  I reached the hotel dressed like I was doing the cover of
GQ
magazine.  The valet spotted the mink on my back and told me PeeWee was waiting for me at room 1101.

              I took the elevator to the eleventh floor.  After knocking on the door, PeeWee pulled me into one of the largest hotel suites I’ve ever seen.  When I stepped in, he opened a mirrored closet to our left, which contained white fox, sable, and coyote coats.  The mink he picked up the day before only added to the furry flavors.  After removing the suits that he took the day before, and laid them on the dinning table, he said, “Damn.”

              I wondered if we did something wrong the day before. “Man, I forgot to get socks.  I don’t wear any underwear, but I don’t like to wear old socks with new suits.”

              I rolled my eyes, thinking that he gave me too much information I didn’t need.  He laid out his gear for the day and began his proposal.  “Ah right, here’s the deal.  We went to Bloomies yesterday because I couldn’t have you wearing those cheap suits.  If we’re going to pull off the hustle I have lined up, you have to look right.  Technically, it isn’t even a hustle when you look at it.  Do you know how to work a hotel?”

              I thought about the lesson Gloria gave me.  “Yeah, sure.”

              “Good.  I work this one for everything from kinky sex to drugs and specialized stationary.  You stay in this hotel, and you need anything that this hotel doesn’t sell, the call comes here first and then the management gets a cut.  I know the Hilton family and their children on a first name basis.  I made this place look great in the
Times
on quite a few occasions.  Even had the Michelin Guide give the chef some airplay.  Then pulled some bigger strings so that they could be awarded the James Beard Foundation award for wines.”

              “So where do I fit in?” I asked, not understanding why he bragged to me.              “You fit in, ‘cause I can’t be in two places at once.  I have Culture Shock, the rock and roll band coming to the hotel in about twenty minutes.  The way it works is one part of the band likes to party no matter what time of day.  The entourage, that’s usually a bunch of out-of-towners, they want to hang out, get laid, and see the sights.  I can’t call Yoda, so I called you.  What you do is charge double for every thing, run some angles down, and then make some life time connections.  These guys had me half way around the world on leer jets.  When all was said and done, I came off with close to six figures.”

              “So which group is mine?”  I asked, the wheels turning in my head.

              “The party group.  As you know, just like when you in the pen, there’s no secrets in Times Square.  That heroin connection you got is gonna come in handy.  The lead singer, Ivan, likes to do that stuff, and I’m not in the mood to run uptown.  You have to meet the limo in like ten minutes.  Make sure you wear the fur, ‘cause it’s cold
and
it gives you the image that they’re looking for.  And by the way, the group has most of the tenth floor from suite one to ten.  You can help yourself to one of them if you like.”

              PeeWee got into the shower and I headed out to meet the rock group.

              The marks PeeWee set up sounded more like having fun than working hustles.  As he talked, I thought of a hundred different ways I could work the group.  I went down to the lobby, and the longest white, stretch, Cadillac limousine I ever saw pulled up.

              “Hey, chap, you the chaperone from Pee Wee?”  A long blonde haired man with a dangling earring asked while standing out of the sunroof.

              I pulled the door open without answering, expecting to see at least ten people, but there were only three.

              “Dude, where we headed dude?” another longhaired scruffy-looking man, who I figured to be Ivan, asked.

              “Hey, name’s Johnny,” I replied to set the right mood of respect.

              “Ivan,” the man said, confirming my hunch.

“My name’s Peter,” came from the one who talked through the sunroof.

“Oh man, we have the same name dude, righteous,” came from the third man who had short hair.

              I sat directly behind the chauffeur and took the band up to the City Grill on the upper West Side.  When we arrived, I learned how popular they were.  A gang of people called their names.  After our meal, we were mobbed by a group of young girls.  Right there, I saw where the first hustle was coming in.

Ivan handed me a banded $10,000 stack of cash from the bank. “That should take care of all our expenses for the day, chap.”

              With the cash stashed away, I rode them back downtown to a few boutiques in the Village.  After making clothing purchases, I promised that the band would promote the stores and convinced the storeowners to give them the items on the house.  I pocketed the extra cash.

By nightfall, we had been all around the city, and then the question came.  “Hey, man, you know where we can score some good heroin?”

              Thoughts of Keiki danced through my mind.  During my pause, I realized that my heart had turned cold.  I had no business going where I was going, but I gave the driver the instructions to 170
th
Street on College Avenue.

              The gritty block with the tall tenement buildings, and a church across the street, made the limo stick out like a sore thumb.  When I stepped out, Money and a group of other dealers had a fit.  The limo was an attraction for the police.  Over the protest of the dealers, I made the quick purchase of ten bags, said my farewells, and then headed for the car.

              When I handed Ivan and the crew the drugs, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  With the exception of Peter, they pulled out syringe kits.  The small cases were complete with needles, an elastic band to tie their arms with, and a spoon with cotton to fill the needle with the drugs.  As the car headed back downtown, the men prepared their drugs.  They used the same kind of miniature torch Dave had to melt the powder.  Once everything was prepared, they shot the drugs into their hungry veins.

              John only used one bag, but Ivan had four without knowing the potency of the product.  Peter, who skipped the hard substance, smiled at me while drinking Absolute Vodka straight from the bottle.  As for me, I was paranoid, looking out the tinted windows for the police

              That night the band was scheduled to stop by the punk rock club
CBGB’s
, but I told the driver to go straight to the hotel.  From the way the two men were nodding, and the way Peter was drinking, they would need a place to sleep instead.

              I was thinking two steps ahead when we reached the hotel.  I told the limo driver to pull into the garage of the Hilton.  I didn’t want any of the Culture Shock fans or the press to see how high those guys was.  I was in no mood to carry anyone, so I told the driver to pull up as close to the elevator as he could.

Peter jumped out of the car first, hardly able to stand.  I gave John a light smack.  He pulled his head from out of his crotch and opened his eyes.  He then stepped out into the cold air using Peter as a crutch.  It was an effort for both men to make it into the ground level elevator.

              “Ivan! Ivan,” I yelled while putting his syringe kit into his pocket.

              The man didn’t move.  I called him again, and still no response.  I smacked him like I was trying to peel the skin off of his face, and that’s when I saw his eyes go up in his head.

              “Oh shit, he’s overdosing,” I said while banging on the partition, yelling for the limo driver to help me get him out of the car.

              The whole world was spinning out of control.  The chauffeur told me to put him back in the car.  He wanted to take Ivan to a hospital.  That meant the police would get involved, and the police and me had nothing in common.

              After demanding that he help me, the oversized driver gave me a hand getting Ivan into the elevator.  When he realized that his friend was dying, Peter sobered up right before my eyes.  We all panicked, trying to reach the tenth floor as quickly as possible.

              The car elevated up each floor.  Time was on my side, but then the elevator stopped.

On the seventh floor the door opened.  A frail looking woman nervously backed into the car with her eyes focused out in the hallway.  She looked out like someone was after her.  When the door closed, she exhaled thinking she was safe, but then turned and saw us trying to get Ivan to walk.  “Oh shit,” she uttered, then stomped her foot.

              “Red?” I shouted when I saw her dark mulatto face and unkempt reddish-sandy colored hair.

              “Oh, hell no,” her Texas twang screeched.  “I entered the wrong damn elevator,” she squawked and tried to walk through the moving elevator.

              “Red, listen.  I need your help.  He’s about to die on me,” I pleaded, looking for sympathy.

              She cuffed whatever stolen property she had in her hand. “I really need to be going down, and y’all have me going up.  Please stop this elevator and let me out.”

              “Red,” I yelled. “Come on, you can’t let this guy die on me,” I pleaded.

              “He did that to himself.  I—have—to—leave—this establishment, now!”

              The elevator stopped at the tenth floor.  While calling out his name and holding onto his legs, I used Ivan’s body to push Red into the hallway.  I had to think fast.  I prayed that her crack habit didn’t destroy all of her honor.

“Look, you and me made a deal.  It’s time to pay up.  You gonna have me charged with a homicide if you don’t help me with this guy.  Look, he’s a White rock star.”

              “Rock star?” she asked, squinting her eyes until his face came into focus.  “You mean like Ivan from Culture Shock? Ivan the rock star?” she asked with a new interest.

              I nodded.  “Yeah, ‘we all go to jail for a very long time’ kind of rock star,” I said, struggling to keep Ivan up on his feet.

              Red started bouncing from one leg to the next. “Hurry, get a room open.  Take his clothes off and put him in a tub,” she said as she ran to the ice machine and picked up an ice bucket. She had a new pep to her voice.

              I picked the first room I came to on the tenth floor, and thanked God it was open.  The chauffeur and I placed Ivan’s naked body into the tub.  As we looked up, ice rained down over our shoulders and into the tub.  Ivan’s head started to move.  Red raced out of the room to refill the ice bucket.

              “Where’s his works?” Red asked when she returned and placed the ice under Ivan’s testicles.

              “Works?”  I asked totally naïve.

              “Yes, Johnny. His syringe.  His needle.  His stopper—the damn thing he used to put the heroin into his system?”

              “Oh,” I replied, searching through Ivan’s pockets for his syringe case.

              “I need salt!” Red yelled out, moving ice closer to Ivan’s body.

              “Salt?”  I looked at Red wondering what the hell she was talking about.

              “Hurry and find it.  If you continue to ask silly questions, this guy is gone.” She looked at the limo driver and gave her instructions.

              Kneeling to remove the syringe, I heard the limo driver banging on neighboring doors.  Peter ran out of the room, leaving John on the bed nodding.  With trembling hands, Red pulled out the small torch.

              “I got it,” the chauffeur announced, running back into the room carrying small packets of table salt.

              Red snatched the salt, got cold water from the tub, heated the salt and water in the spoon, and then sucked it into the syringe.

“You—hold this, and do not let it burn out,” she instructed, handing me the torch with the tiny blue flame spilling from it.

After finding a vein on Ivan’s arm, Red shot the salt into his body.  Like a miracle, his eyes exploded open.  Instantly, he jumped out of the tub.  My heart slowed down when I heard him speaking.  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Red sit on the floor and remove her grimy gym shoe.  Her hands reappeared with a long glass tube.  She filled the top of the tube with white Crack rocks and said, “Pass me that.”