Get Some Page 6

  Lying on the bed was a gray .45, a black Smith & Wesson and a short-nosed, pearl-handled, cute .22. There was a switchblade and two boxes of bullets, some handcuffs and two cans of Mace.

  “Shit, we ain’t robbing the muthafuckin’ bank! Why we gotta bring all this shit?”

  “Protection, brotha. Just take your piece and chill.” Ray Ray strapped on his underarm holster.

  Lil Steve had a gun but just used it to flash. He didn’t even have any bullets. He leaned down and picked up the pearl-handled one.

  Ray Ray picked up the Smith & Wesson and snapped in the clip.

  “Damn, man, where’d you get this shit, dude? It’s sweet.” Lil Steve admired the steely weapon.

  “I just got it, all right?”

  “It’s cool, nigga, but what’s up? You gonna Mace the dude and shoot his ass too?” Lil Steve laughed. “That Mace’ll fly back in your own got damn face,” he told Ray Ray. “You ain’t never had that shit, have you, man? You’ll be coughing so bad and your eyes’ll be crying. You’ll be begging for some Primatene mist but can’t have it. Why we gotta be strapped?”

  “Just in case,” Ray Ray said, serious.

  “In case of what?”

  “In case he gets wild and starts trippin’.”

  “You gonna shoot him?”

  “Listen, I’ll shoot the fool if I have to, but I ain’t in it like that, G. Besides, I got priors. I ain’t tryin’ to get me no strike. If the shit don’t look right, it’s all off, okay? I ain’t getting my ass faded ’cause some raggedy shit went crazy.”

  “For real,” Lil Steve said, fingering his gun.

  “I done did my time on some whack shit already.” In tenth grade, Ray Ray had gone to juvenile hall. He wasn’t the trigger man but wasn’t about to scream on no OGs. He did four months and kept his mouth shut. The brothers in the ’hood respected him for that too. It was one of the dudes from the set who kicked him down with the arsenal. But he wasn’t about to tell Lil Steve that. Lil Steve didn’t claim no gangbangin’ shit. He was a hustler. Took cuts from both sides. Made money from anybody who wanted to be in the game. Not like Ray Ray. All his people were Crips. And although he didn’t claim in a color-line way, in his heart he wore nothing but navy.

  “You ain’t gonna use that, dude. Listen, if there ain’t no money, we out, right?” Lil Steve said this last part real slow. He wanted to make sure Ray Ray understood this.

  “Right, right.” Ray Ray nodded his head, throwing his robe off on the bed. Pulling a black T-shirt over his hard, bench-pressed body, he put on the rest of his gray pinstriped suit. He hooked a silver-chained cross around the back of his neck. He brought the cross to his lips and kissed it.

  “Come on, Moses, let’s go.” Lil Steve buttoned his Armani.

  Ray Ray mumbled a quick prayer to himself.

  “You the most religious psycho I know.”

  They both strolled outside into the loud A.M. sun. It was a clear day for a jacking. The sky was completely clean. You could see the Hollywood sign straight from VanNess Boulevard.

  Lil Steve and Ray Ray went to Winchell’s doughnuts first and ordered a couple of glazed before heading down Wilshire to the bank. They parked the Lincoln and waited across the street.

  Ray Ray spoke after sitting for almost an hour. “Where’s he at, dog?”

  “Chill out, G, we early.” Lil Steve finished his last bite of doughnut and popped open a new pack of Kools. “You don’t want to just drive up and do this shit, man. We got to see what the dude looks like first.”

  “Trudy’s going to point the dude out when we get there. All we do is wait for that damn fool to show. Said he never comes in before eleven.”

  “You got your fake ID?” Ray Ray asked him.

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, so you go on in and I’ma be—”

  “Nigga, you don’t have to tell me my business. Listen, I’ma walk in, right. I’ma ask a few bullshit questions. I’ma wait at that skinny table and pull out these checks like I’m filling the amounts on these slips. You stay out here and wait. Don’t bother coming in. They see two young black niggas in a bank and may trip. We don’t want anybody gettin’ suspicious. I’ma take my time, right, like I got a big deposit.” Lil Steve unbuttoned his coat and took outa stack of loose checks. He got out of the car and looked back inside.

  The car didn’t have a backseat. It wasn’t that long ago that Ray Ray had gotten the car. Looked like a piece of shit in less than six weeks. Brother was as hard on cars as he was on women and shoes. A rosary hung from the Lincoln’s rearview mirror. Ray Ray’s mother was Catholic—they never went to church, but Ray Ray never left the house without his cross.

  “Remember, wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.” Lil Steve checked his Rolex and dodged across the street.

  Ray Ray watched Lil Steve walk through the bank’s large glass doors. He fingered the cross around his neck and turned his head from the blazing sun’s rays.

  Lil Steve strolled through the door. He paused for a moment. It was burning outside but the bank was near freezing. He buttoned his jacket, took off his Gucci sunglasses, wiping them off and putting them back inside their case. Lil Steve boldly walked toward the tall middle counter and started removing the stack of checks from his billfold. Trudy watched him come in but kept her eyes on her hands. The bank was mildly busy, but only two tellers were open. Nine people were waiting in line.

  Trudy almost smiled when she saw Lil Steve. He looked like he owned a yacht in Marina del Rey. He had the tall, well-groomed frame of a broker.

  Lil Steve smiled at one of the ladies standing in line. The white lady smiled back but quickly turned away. Lil Steve began filling amounts on the bank deposit slips. He coughed and pulled out a check register book as if he were cross-referencing amounts.

  Trudy watched him closely from her bank teller’s window. Lil Steve watched her too but never straight on. He was watching her reflection in the glass.

  Just then, a short man in a beautiful tan suit rushed in through the front door. He had a black leather clutch wrapped tightly around his wrist, and his small tasseled shoes moved quickly across the floor. He worked his way through the fat burgundy rope and stood behind the last person in line. Ten minutes went by. The line moved slowly. A man at one of the windows didn’t have the right ID.

  Suddenly Ray Ray burst through the bank’s glass front doors. Both Trudy and Lil Steve looked up, stunned. Ray Ray looked at Trudy and then at Lil Steve. He was tired of waiting outside in the sun. It was taking so long he thought something had happened. He walked slowly around the bank, not really knowing where to stand. He bolted to the bathroom in the back.

  Trudy panicked. Vernita was in the bank’s bathroom too. If he saw her the whole plan would be ruined.

  Lil Steve glanced at Trudy. She was busy with a customer but she did look up briefly at Lil Steve. Her nervous eyes quickly shifted toward the tan-suit man. She pulled a ballpoint pen from behind her ear.

  That was the signal. Lil Steve gathered his papers. But the tan-suit man still had five people in front of him. He tapped his small, impatient feet.

  Lil Steve decided to sit down at the “new accounts” couch.

  An elderly Filipino woman with thick glasses and salt-and-pepper hair sat in the chair behind a large paneled desk.

  “Are you here for a new account, sir?” she asked, peering over her horn-rims.

  “Sir!” Lil Steve sure liked that. Nobody had ever called him “sir” before. Lil Steve adjusted the tie under his collar.

  “Why, yes. I’m looking for a new bank. I’m awfully tired of the people over at First Federal. They say they’ll merge, you know, and I can just imagine the lines and impersonal service I’ll receive there.”

  Deceiving came easy to Lil Steve. Lies would just float out over his caramel-toned tongue. His mama said he was born with the gift.

  He could lie on the spot without blinking an eye. Lie about anything at any given time, and could speak white in a he
artbeat if need be. Learned it when his mama had him bused to school in Granada Hills to keep him away from the gangs. He got out of the gangs but not the criminal activity. The white talk just came in handy. Used to get jumped for it before he started getting smart and switching back and forth between ’hoods.

  He remembered the time one of his teachers caught him gambling in the boys’ bathroom. The room was full of smoke and foul-mouth yelling.

  Lil Steve was oblivious to the teacher’s presence in there. He was caught up in a lucky streak that had him holding a fistful of ones, and his pockets were bulging with coins.

  “Fuck you, punk-ass muthafuckas. I’ma spank you and have yo’ mama sucking my dick. Who tol’ yo’ ass to roll a double six, bitch? Y’all is some dumb lunchmeat punks.”

  His teacher was shocked. Steven Williamson was one of his star pupils. “Come here, young man. Where’d you learn to talk like that?”

  Lil Steve looked angry but quickly changed his face. He followed the teacher out into the hall. The teacher took him to the principal’s office.

  “Oh, Mr. Johnson?” he said, knocking lightly and then going in. “Could I have a moment? Go ahead, Steven, talk the way you were talking a moment ago. Listen to this, Frank. This is going to be great.” He knowingly nudged the principal’s arm.

  Lil Steve just sat in the wooden chair, staring.

  “Go on, talk the way you were talking in the john. We just want to hear it.” His teacher was trying to stifle a laugh. He was fidgeting away in his seat.

  “I really don’t know what you mean,” Lil Steve said, keeping his eyes at the ceiling.

  “Come on. Do some of that ‘brother-man’ stuff.” Mr. Lawson nudged the principal again. “Watch this, Frank. Oh, come on,” he said more excitedly now. “Talk that nigger talk you were doing in the bathroom again, boy.”

  A rush of heat flushed over Lil Steve’s face. Like someone held an iron too close to his cheek. He was glad he wasn’t no punk white boy neither, so none of them dumb fools could see.

  Lil Steve rushed past them both and walked out the door and down the hall. He walked through the thick wooden doors to the street and went straight to the bus stop and sat on the bench.

  It was not until the afternoon breeze of the valley hit his face that he finally breathed deeply again. Lil Steve never went back to school. Oh, he left every morning at the same exact time. He got dressed, got his books and things, but he’d double back and kick it with all the hustlers and gangsters who’d stopped going to school long ago.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the Filipino lady said to Lil Steve. “May I please see your ID?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lil Steve said, reaching for his wallet and pulling out his ID and matching fake credit cards.

  “Will this be a joint account?”

  “Oh, no,” Lil Steve shot back. “I’ve never had joint partners. I remember Father’s friend Phillip split up his business.” He looked away a moment, just for effect. “You can’t drive a car with four arms.”

  Lil Steve set the stage and let his marks fill the rest. He watched Ray Ray out of the corner of his eye. He was standing at the thin table, by the long teller line, dangling the bank pen from its long metal chain.

  Lil Steve took a leather billfold from his upper breast pocket, carefully removed the elegant Cross pen and began filling out the form the Filipino woman gave him.

  Trudy kept her head down. She couldn’t look at Ray Ray. She really felt bad he was there.

  Ray Ray stayed at the table for a minute and looked over at Lil Steve, who was filing his nails while the woman typed his name on a blue vinyl book.

  The tan-suit man was nearing the front of the line. He repeatedly tapped his small foot.

  Lil Steve noticed Ray Ray and turned his back on him. He gave the new-accounts lady his full attention.

  The Filipino woman slowly rolled the bankbook out of her printer.

  “All right, Mr. Jones, you’re all set. How much would you like to deposit today?”

  Today? Damn it, Lil Steve thought. He had forgotten he needed to put money into the account. He looked down into his wallet at two crumpled fives.

  “Well, how much do I need?” He saw Ray Ray raise his eyebrows at him. He wanted Lil Steve to come on.

  The tan-suit man was now at Trudy’s window. In a moment he would be leaving the bank and gone.

  “The minimum is fifty dollars, sir.”

  Lil Steve fumbled around with his wallet. He tried not to panic but the time was ticking away. Trudy was already counting the huge stack of cash. He glanced at Ray Ray, who was mad-dogging him big time now, his face all scowled up and mean.

  Fuck! Lil Steve thought. This was not supposed to happen. He wouldn’t even be dealing with this shit if Vernita had given him some money. Lil Steve felt the wet drip down the length of his back. Ray Ray scowled at him again and Lil Steve glanced at the door. The C-note was the very last of Lil Steve’s money. Reluctantly he leaned over and peeled it from his sock.

  “One moment,” the Filipino woman said, getting up.

  Lil Steve was sweating now. Hurry up, bitch. If they didn’t move soon it would be too late.

  Ray Ray walked away from the table and stood near the wall, pretending to read the brochures in the stand.

  The tan-suit man was still at the window.

  Lil Steve leaned forward, anxious. Sweat was beading around his brow. “Where’d that damn bank ’ho go?” The tan-suit man was getting ready to leave.

  The Filipino lady finally came back. She handed Lil Steve the small slender passbook. She reached out her hand for Lil Steve to shake.

  “Thank you very much, sir. I hope you’ll enjoy banking with B of A.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Lil Steve said, feeling more confident now. “Especially if all the people working here are as beautiful and pleasant as you.” He was handsome in that black Armani suit. His height and goatee made him look distinguished. He could charm women right out of their clothes.

  The woman smiled, revealing a wide row of teeth surrounded in gold.

  Ray Ray collected his papers and left. He walked briskly across the street and jumped into the Lincoln. Lil Steve let go of the Filipino woman’s hand. Flashing everyone in his path his Cherry Coke smile, he walked casually out the front door. All they had to do now was wait for the tan-suit man to come out. Lil Steve brushed his sleeve and strolled to the car. It felt good standing there in the Beverly Hills sun. Even the parked cars sparkled like gold.

  7

  Charles and Vernita

  Charles was waiting in a midget white mail carrier’s truck. It was parked right in front of the bank. As soon as he saw Ray Ray and Lil Steve leave, he walked quickly inside. He was wearing his blue and gray postal uniform with a giant canvas sack strapped to his back. Charles wore a hat and dark tinted glasses. A fake beard covered his face. He walked straight to the back to a water cooler in the corner. No one even looked up. Charles knew that see-through feeling well. Uniforms were always equated with the help. He was the worker, the last rung of a ladder, as noteworthy as the fake ficus tree in the lobby.

  Charles studied the room under his dark tinted shades. He poured a small cup of water. He tried to act cool. He took a huge gulp and crumpled the paper cup. He took deep breaths to clear his head.

  The tan-suit man watched Trudy’s hands. She was busy counting bundles of money. A strap was a fat roll of money in hundreds, but a bundle equaled ten straps. Trudy counted out five hundred Saran Wrapped bundles, exactly one-hundred-thousand dollars. A blue vinyl satchel rested on her desk. Trudy took short breaths through her nose as she slowly counted the money.

  Don’t panic. Stay calm, Trudy scolded herself. She could feel the rushing drum of her maniac heart. Breathe deep! Take it easy. Don’t panic now. Trudy could feel the attack trying to close up her throat. She stopped and fanned herself with a bank teller slip. She wished she could go get some water.

  Suddenly, Vernita whisked toward the other teller’s w
indow. She’d been hiding in the bathroom the whole time. She was wearing a light linen suit with a dangerously low-cut halter and six-inch black patent leather stilettos. The blond wig hung way down past her shoulders. It swung across her back as she walked. The contrasting dark sunglasses made her look like a star. The men in the bank began to stare.

  Vernita went to the other teller’s window. She held an old check in her hand.

  “May I help you?” the bank teller asked Vernita when it was finally her turn.

  Vernita pushed the check and her ID under the glass. “Cash this for me, please,” Vernita said coolly. She took out a compact and began dabbing her lipstick. She looked whiter than a coconut pie.

  The teller smiled at Vernita. She opened the cash drawer. But suddenly she stopped and held the check in her hand. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take this. It’s not made out to you.”

  “Just cash it, honey,” Vernita said, avoiding the teller’s eyes. She was watching the bank in the mirror of her compact. “Go on, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Vernita watched the tan-suit man at Trudy’s window. He was waiting for Trudy to finishing dealing his bills.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t,” the teller mildly told her.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake. Who’s in charge here?” Vernita demanded.

  Trudy looked up and stopped counting the man’s money.

  “Now, really, I’ve been a customer too long at this branch to settle for this kind of crap!” Vernita put one hand on her hip. The blond wig shook with her loose, bobbing neck.

  Charles stayed quiet. He crushed another water cup in his hand.

  “Ma’am, we can’t cash a check made out to another person.” The teller talked to her low. She wanted to calm her back down.

  “The hell you can’t. I’ve been doing it for over ten years!”

  The tan-suit man glanced in Vernita’s direction and then motioned for Trudy to finish.

  Damn it! Trudy thought. How were they going to make the switch if the tan-suit man’s eyes never left Trudy’s wrists? Her breathing became labored. It sounded much more staccato. She hoped the tan-suit man didn’t notice.