The Score Read online

  She seemed very flustered, but I wasn’t feeding into her shit. I’ve given her plenty of opportunities to get her own cash, but she fucked every last one of them up. Instead of selling the gift cards I had given her, she kept them for herself and lied about them being stolen. Then she almost got caught cashing one of the phony checks at a check-cashing spot. The lady gave Daysha a hard time about the check telling her that she needed another form of ID so instead of Daysha saying that she didn’t have it and that she would take her business elsewhere, she starts cursing the lady out and makes a scene. In the end, the lady kept the check and the fake ID and called the cops. Luckily Daysha got out of there before the cops got there, because if she hadn’t her silly ass would’ve gone to jail. And who knows, she probably would’ve blown my whole operation. From that day, I put her on ice. I never got her to do anything else, even though I knew she needed the money. She was a liability. So, from time to time I’d throw her a few bucks just so she could have a few dollars in her pocket.

  “Nah, Daysha, you know I don’t do those gift cards anymore. They started becoming a hassle so I just did away with them,” I lied. I wasn’t dealing with her on that level anymore.

  “Well, can you send me on one of those check-cashing jobs? ’Cause I need some money bad.”

  “Come on, Daysha, why you making me go there with you? You know what happened the last time I sent you on one of those jobs.”

  “Yeah, but that’s been over six months now,” she whined.

  “It doesn’t matter, Daysha. You almost put my business in jeopardy. So I can’t trust you handling a job like that anymore.”

  “Oh so it’s like that?!” Daysha said, clearly irritated.

  “Yeah, it is. But if you need a few dollars I can come ’round there and give you a couple hundred bucks,” I offered. I figured it was better than having nothing.

  “What the fuck is two hundred dollars going to do for me? I can’t do shit with that, Lauren. I can’t even pay my fucking water bill with that.”

  “It’s more than what your baby daddy ever gave you,” I hissed. This chick was really starting to get on my nerves. How dare she call me like I fucking owe her something? I didn’t tell her to get with that bum she had a baby by. That’s her fault she doesn’t know how to manage her money. Not mine.

  “Yo, Lauren, that was real foul shit to say to your homegirl. You definitely showed me how you truly feel about me.”

  “Look, Daysha, do you want the money or not?” I asked her. I wasn’t about to join her pity party. I had shit to do. I had a phone call to make that was going to bring me a three-million-dollar payout. So, this chump change that Daysha and I were talking about was taking up my time.

  “Nah, keep it and give it to somebody else,” she said, and then she disconnected our call.

  Normally I would call her back when we had our little spats. But this time, I let her go because I had a big fish to catch. And my white boy in Maryland named Ryan was the man to help me do it.

  MATT

  Lauren had once again worked her magic with her hacker connection. She had somehow managed to get her connect Ryan up in B’more to change all of the account information into the names of Mr. and Mrs. Belton, who would be played by us when we went into the bank. For real, when she first proposed the idea to me, I was looking at her like she was out of her fucking mind. I mean, I thought we were just going to have the money wired to new accounts, but Lauren was talking about us walking into the bank as a rich couple and walking out with a briefcase filled with cash. “I thought shit like that only happened in the movies,” I had said to Lauren. She laughed and told me she had everything under control. I guess she did.

  All we had to do now was come off as the ritzy Beltons. We’d walk into the bank, meet with the branch manager, and walk out with the cash. At least that was the plan. Sounded easy, but in the theft line of business nothing was ever really that easy. One wrong word, look, or move and you could find yourself trapped in the bank until the cops arrived. I wasn’t trying to go back to the joint so Lauren better know what she was doing.

  Slinging dope was much easier than making money doing this white-collar shit. At least in the dope game you knew exactly who your enemies were and could try to be ready for a sneak attack. In the scamming business you could’ve just scored big and never saw that a bank employee or store clerk had hit the button to call the police on you. Who said white-collar crime was safer than street crime?

  I flexed my neck and buttoned the top button on my custom-fitted French cuff dress shirt. I stuck my arms out in front of me and admired the shimmery diamond cuff links that were glistening from my wrists. Everything I was wearing felt rich against my skin. A feeling I hadn’t experienced in a while. It felt damned good to get dressed up in a custom-tailored Armani suit, brand-new wingtip Ferragamo loafers, and the big H Hermès belt. To seal the deal on my rich look, I slid on the solid gold Presidential Rolex Lauren had gotten me off one of her credit card trips. I took one last look at myself in the mirror behind our bedroom door. It had been mad long since I’d dressed up like this.

  “Sharp as shit. Not bad if I do say so myself. Damn, nigga, you still got it. You look good as hell. Like a boss,” I complimented myself. I swiped my hand over my freshly lined goatee and made sure the waves on my head were on spin. I was feeling like a boss again. I was ready for whatever. But, to make sure I was definitely ready, I slid my gun onto my belt and pulled my suit jacket over it to guarantee it was concealed. I had already told Lauren if shit went bad at the bank, I was going to shoot our way out. I had made a promise to myself that I would never go back to the joint. I would have rather died.

  * * *

  “Lauren. You almost ready, bae?” I yelled. I was feeling dapper and I knew if I looked this good Lauren was going to be stepping through looking even better. Lauren was beautiful inside and out. I was even more in love with her now than before. She had taken a lot of shit off of me over the years including cheating with other bitches. It wasn’t something for her to take personal because I wasn’t ever going to feel about the next chick like I felt about Lauren.

  Lauren held me down for years. When I got locked up and lost all my shit to the fed seizures, Lauren didn’t think twice about coming up with a new plan to get money for both of us. Lauren was one of the smartest chicks I knew. You would’ve thought she had every college degree there is, but nope, she was just made resourceful and super intelligent.

  Lauren was definitely the mastermind behind our illegal credit card and check-kiting operation. When she first introduced me to this shit she never made me feel like I was less of a man . . . until just recently. That’s a big reason why I was going back into the drug game. I can’t have no chick of mine running shit while I just sit around like I’m her bitch! No way! That ain’t how I roll. I was a man of substance. I was a fucking boss! And bosses ran their own show. Aside from all the shit that comes with this white-collar hustle, Lauren was a good girl at heart. She was my ride-or-die chick and she was the realest chick I’d ever had on my team. Lauren was also loyal. Now, we’d had a lot of fights over the years but that came with the territory. I mean, what nigga doesn’t go through shit with their chicks? Street niggas didn’t do anything the easy way, including loving their chicks. If only Lauren could understand that all that cheating shit was just what I did to make up for my own shortcomings. It didn’t mean that I didn’t love her because I loved the fuck out of her and my feelings for her weren’t going to change.

  As I waited for her to come out of our walk-in closet, I sat on the side of our bed with my head in my hands. Things all of a sudden started weighing on me. I was a dog nigga and I knew it. I could probably help it if I wanted but the way I grew up, only weak niggas didn’t cheat. As much as I loved Lauren, I had fucked up again. This time it went deep. I was fucking with Yancy behind Lauren’s back and now I was feeling like shit about it. It was like I had a sickness. As long as I can remember, pussy has always been thrown at me, s
o I simply had to take it. Now I’m not making excuses for my behavior, but there was no denying that Yancy was a bad bitch in a totally different way than Lauren. Lauren had that wholesome good girl appeal about her. But, Yancy had that bad-bitch, freak-in-the-sheets, I’ll-suck-your-dick-on-camera type of swag about her. It was hard to pass up good pussy when it’s always in your face. It was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. I knew when Lauren brought Yancy around that Yancy was going to be trouble. I still remember the first day I laid eyes on Yancy. . . .

  August 2011

  “Help me! Heeelp! Please somebody help me!!”

  I heard the screams but I was driving so I didn’t see where they were coming from. Lauren had spotted her first as we drove along the street where the Virginia Beach hoes worked the strip.

  “Please! Somebody help me! He’s trying to kill me!”

  I had finally spotted her. She was screaming and running down the street barefoot, flailing her arms over her head trying to get someone to stop for her.

  “Oh my God, Matt, that’s the girl that always sells me the jewelry,” Lauren said to me as we drove toward the highway. “Um . . . her name is Yancy. Yeah, Yancy. Look at how she looks. Somebody must be after her.”

  “A’ight, so,” I said nonchalantly. In my world if a bitch was running down the street either her man or her pimp was chasing her and that wasn’t none of my damn business. I was on parole and I wasn’t trying to catch no assault case from getting into the next man’s business.

  “Agh! Help!” We heard more screams as Yancy caught up to our car sitting at the light. She had a look of terror on her face like an ax murderer was coming after her.

  “So you have to stop and help her. See what’s wrong at least. It’s the middle of the night . . . what if a damn crazy serial killer is chasing her,” Lauren said all dramatic-like. I shook my head in disbelief at what my girl was saying. Was she fucking crazy? Were we supposed to just pick up some strange girl off the street?

  “Man, listen. You know damn well ain’t no serial killer chasing that ho! A pimp, maybe, so that makes it none of my business. Let that chick handle her own shit. She looks like she’s got a good lead on ’em anyway. Besides, she probably be robbing tricks. That’s how she be getting all those watches and diamond cuff links she be selling,” I said dismissively. I wasn’t trying to step on the next man’s toes if he was trying to handle his business. Bad enough I had lost my entire enterprise based off some jealous nigga shit. I couldn’t afford to be in nothing that didn’t concern me or Lauren. “If she stole a nigga’s shit and he’s running her ass down to get his shit back that’s on her,” I said flatly.

  “C’mon, Matt. Please. Stop the car. We can’t just leave her out here to get killed,” Lauren screamed, whipping her head around frantically.

  Yancy was on the side of the street flailing her hands wildly at our car and that’s when I could see that her face was all bloody, her shirt was ripped exposing one of her titties, and her hair was tossed atop her head like a wild bird’s nest. Somebody had fucked her up pretty damn good.

  Lauren kept pressing me to stop for the girl. I couldn’t stand to hear Lauren begging and all upset like that so I finally gave in.

  “Gotdamn! You about to get me involved in some shit that might have me catch a fuckin’ body out here all for some ho that you don’t even know like that,” I grumbled. I finally relented, bust a U-turn, and pulled Lauren’s whip up to where Yancy was standing. Yancy looked horrible standing there rocking on her legs like she was about to piss on herself. She was bleeding from her nose and mouth pretty bad.

  Lauren rolled down her window and without hesitation Lauren yelled to Yancy, “Get in! Get in!”

  Yancy frantically opened the door and scrambled into the backseat of the Benz. I could smell the strong scent of blood on her.

  “Oh my God! Thank you for stopping. He was trying to kill me! Please don’t let him find me!” she cried. She crouched her body down on the floor of the car instead of sitting on the backseat.

  “Please don’t let him get me! I will do anything to repay you, just don’t let that crazy motherfucka kill me,” Yancy begged. She was so scared I could hear her teeth chattering.

  Just then we all heard the screech of tires behind us. I looked up into the rearview mirror. The headlights of a truck were bearing down on the back of the car like it was about to ram into the back of it.

  “That’s him! Please drive!” Yancy yelled, kicking her feet and hitting the back of the driver’s-side chair. “Don’t let him get me!”

  “Drive, Matt! Drive!” Lauren screamed too. I floored the gas pedal and looked up into the rearview mirror again. Sure enough, the black Suburban was down on our ass.

  “Do you see this bullshit you got us into?” I snarled at Lauren. It was too late for all of that though. We were in it now.

  I whipped the Benz into the far left lane of the highway and floored the gas again. I drove right up on the car in front of me and then right before I hit the back of it I swerved in front of the car in the right lane. The car I cut in front of laid on his horn but I didn’t care. I was whipping that car like I was a NASCAR driver. I swerved in and out of traffic three more times. The Benz was small enough to fit in the tightest openings between cars. I looked out of my side mirror. I smiled when I saw that the black Suburban was stuck in the left lane behind like three other cars.

  “He’s coming!” Lauren shouted. She saw the same thing that I saw. The SUV had swerved over in an attempt to get behind us but I was faster.

  “Nah, that nigga can’t touch me. I’m nice,” I said. My adrenaline was pumping now. I threw the Benz into high third gear and laid on the gas. I moved at top speed and slipped into the far right lane. Within a few seconds of missing it I swerved to the right and acted like I was getting off the exit. I waited until the SUV was close and with no warning I quickly maneuvered the Benz over the grass and back onto the highway.

  “Nigga thought I was getting off the exit!” I yelled out. I heard horns blaring. It was too late. The Suburban couldn’t get out of the exit fast enough. There were too many cars whizzing by for him to jump back on without killing himself. I had stuck his ass in the exit. He had no choice but to get off the exit. By the time he drove around to get back on the highway I was going to be long gone.

  “Take that, you dumb-ass motherfucka!” I yelled excitedly. “Wooohooo! Your boy is nice with the wheels! There ain’t a nigga alive that can drive better than me,” I cheered, slamming my fist on the steering wheel. Lauren’s eyes were bugged out and she was holding on to the seat-belt straps for dear life. I started to laugh at her ass because she was the one who’d gotten us into this mess. I can’t front; the chase was exhilarating even though I was mad as hell to be involved.

  “Oh my God! I can’t thank you enough! I can’t believe he was going to kill me! Aggggh!” Yancy cried out. “I don’t know what would’ve happened to me! Agggh!” She was screaming and crying like the nigga was still right behind us. She was getting on my nerves with all of that now.

  “Yo, chill. You safe now. Just chill. That nigga is lost on the highway somewhere,” I told her. I couldn’t stand all of that fucking yelling and screaming shit. It was just a crazy situation to be thrown into like that.

  I looked at Lauren out of the corner of my eye. She looked over at me and I made a face at her like what the fuck we supposed to do with this chick now? We didn’t know the chick from a can of paint aside from us buying a few hot watches, cuff links, and some nice necklaces from her. That didn’t exactly qualify the chick to come chill at our spot with us. I mean if the chick was grimy enough to be stealing jewelry from tricks, what was to stop her from doing some grimy shit to us?

  I was from that street school of thought where we didn’t trust nobody, not even a bitch that look like she had just gotten her ass beat. You know how many street niggas I had seen get set up by bitches posing as damsels in distress? Shit, too many to count. That was one of those classic hood se
tup plots. I didn’t trust Yancy from the minute I had laid eyes on her but Lauren was all about it. Lauren was a kindhearted person but I wasn’t feeling the whole vibe or motion of helping her.

  Lauren turned up the music and leaned over to tell me, “Take her back to the condo. Let me help her get cleaned up and find out where she wants us to take her after that.” I look at Lauren like she fell and bumped her fucking head. She had to be smoking some wacky-ass bud if she thought for one minute I was bringing that grimy chick to my crib off the rip.

  “Nah, you bugging. You acting like you ain’t grow up in the hood. Fuck out of here, Lauren. We not bringing no stranger where we rest at so you better come up with another plan,” I said flatly. “I’ll grab her a short stay a ’telly if you want. You want to make sure she a’ight once she check in that’s up to you. I ain’t about to bring no assault victim to my crib ’cause next thing I know she turn crazy talkin’ about we did something to her or she have some crazy nigga following her to the crib. Use your brain,” I told Lauren point blank. She was really tripping and not thinking straight at that moment. She was acting like this chick was a harmless stray dog or some shit.

  “You’re right. Take her to a hotel,” Lauren changed her mind.

  I got Yancy a room at the downtown Residence Inn. I paid it up for two nights just in case she needed an extra day to get herself together. I mean old dude had banged her up pretty badly. I was still curious about how she had gotten away if the dude chasing her was able to inflict that much damage on her. When it came down to it Yancy had two black eyes, two missing teeth, three broken fingers, a fractured rib, and a bunch of scratches and cuts. Yancy was a fighter obviously. I guess that was the first thing that intrigued me about her. She wasn’t trying to go to the police or the hospital. She just agreed to stick that shit out like a trouper. Yancy had proven herself as a rider early on.