Passion for the Heist, page 9
“Bruh, you know even before I went up north I wasn’t the party-type dude. I’m even more to the chest with it now. The last way I want to spend my first night out is surrounded by a bunch of fake-ass niggas showing fake-ass love, knowing damn well the only reason most of them will even show up is to take pictures and say that they were in the building. I ain’t for all that dick-sucking if it ain’t coming from a bitch,” Pain said.
“You know I know better than that. I got a homegirl who’s the manager at a little lounge-type joint downtown. I’m thinking we grab some of the homies, a few pretty bitches, and grab a table or something. We ain’t gotta do it too big,” Case assured him.
“Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. If we’re gonna do it I need to get on some phone calls while it’s early,” Case told him.
After a bit of small talk, the trio made their way into the living room. Seated at the dining room table was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair. His thick glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose every time he leaned in to squint at something on the screen of the laptop in front of him. His fingers flashed across keys as they entered another line of information. On the table were also two printers and a piece of equipment that Pain couldn’t identify. The machines hummed softly in rhythm with his typing. Stacked neatly in a box beside him were a few dozen drugstore gift cards.
On the sofa across the room, a thin girl sat cross-legged watching something on the oversized television that took up most of the wall in the small living room. She absently twirled a strand of her honey blonde weave around her finger while taking slow drags off a long blunt. She pulled her eyes from the television long enough to spare them a glance before going back to her program. She was so high, whether she even realized they were there was anyone’s guess.
“She okay?” Pain asked.
“That’s my girl, Patrice. She just a little zooted,” Tyriq explained. “Trice, look alive girl. You see we got company.”
Patrice hit the blunt and let a cloud of smoke ooze from her nostrils before answering. “I’m high, not blind.”
“Then act like it, and at least try and be a good hostess. We got a special guest,” Tyriq informed her.
“Case ain’t nobody. He’s here damn near every other day,” Patrice said. She was more interested in her blunt and her show than anything Tyriq had to say.
“There you go with that smart-ass mouth. I’m not talking about, Case. This here is my big brother. The one I’m always telling you about, Blackbird.”
This did get Patrice’s attention. She had known who Pain was since before she had hooked up with Tyriq. Not personally, but by reputation. Older chicks in her neighborhood would always swoon when they told stories about the Queen and her Blackbird. Legend had it that he was the Queen’s concubine, as well as her vengeance. She’d heard all kinds of tall tales about the man who was said to be the slayer of the Queen’s pussy and her enemies alike. Most of them were probably bullshit, but nonetheless entertaining.
“Nice to finally meet you, Blackbird.” Patrice paused her smoking long enough to sit up and extend her hand to Pain.
“Pain,” he corrected her before shaking her hand. The more he heard the name, the more it irritated him. When he shook Patrice’s hand he found it to be rougher than he had expected. She was no stranger to work. Unlike Ms. Louis, this one would wallow in the mud with the soldiers. Whether that was a good or bad thing, it was still too early to tell.
“From all the stories I’ve heard about you from Riq, I feel like we know each other already,” Patrice said.
“Well, I hope he hasn’t already soured you on me before I get a chance to do it myself?” Pain joked.
“No, Riq actually speaks really highly of you. He said you helped him through some real rough times.”
“Riq is family. I’d do anything for that cat,” Pain said.
“And I’d do anything for you,” Tyriq chimed in. “Trice, do me a favor and go grab them roll-ups off your nightstand.”
“There are roll-ups right here.” Patrice gestured toward the assortment of rolling papers and cigars on the coffee table.
“I want the ones from the bedroom,” Tyriq insisted. Patrice finally read between the lines and got off the couch. “Space cadet,” he mumbled once she had left the room.
“How long you been with her?” Pain asked Tyriq.
“Almost a year now. I met her one day when I was down at the Department of Probation checking in,” Tyriq explained.
“She on paper, too?” Pain asked.
“Nah, she was my PO.”
“Get the fuck outta here!” Pain laughed.
“Dead ass. Shorty was feeling a young nigga’s style. One thing led to another and the next thing you know, she got steady access to this dick and I got a license to steal!” Tyriq boasted.
“I taught you well, grasshopper.” Pain rubbed Tyriq’s head playfully.
“Yeah, you did. Oh, and speaking of stealing…” Tyriq grabbed a box from the coffee table. When he flipped the lid open it revealed assorted pieces of jewelry. It reminded Pain of a miniature leprechaun’s hoard. From the box Tyriq pulled a beautiful gold chain. From the end of it dangled a piece of black onyx fashioned to resemble a bird, trimmed in gold. “I scraped a few pennies together and got you a little welcome-home gift.”
Pain admired the pendant. Even in its simplicity it was beautiful … thoughtful even on Tyriq’s part. Beautiful and all, Pain didn’t miss what the piece symbolized. “I can’t accept that, Riq.”
“You don’t have a choice. Since it was custom-made I can’t sell it back without taking a loss, and you know Case don’t pay a nigga shit,” he laughed. “Please, I want you to have it.” Tyriq held the chain up.
Pain was hesitant, but he dipped his head and allowed Tyriq to slip the chain over it. When the metal touched his skin, it sent waves of cool through his neck, settling in his shoulders. He felt the gentle pull from the bird pendant as it swayed softly, looking to get settled. It had been a long time since Pain had rocked a chain of any kind. There was always a small surge of confidence when he put on a new piece of jewelry, but the custom piece nearly made Pain feel like his old self again. Slowly but surely the broken pieces of him were being put back together.
“I know shit is different now with the team, but you’ll always be the Blackbird to me,” Tyriq explained.
“I love you, my nigga.” Pain hugged him.
“I love you too, big homie. Now that you’re home we about to start putting shit back in order, starting with a little piece of unfinished business. Me and Case got—”
“A transaction to conduct,” Case cut him off before he could finish his statement. “That piece you set me out with was hitting.” He held up the credit card he had used in the sneaker store. “Those numbers are good, but who knows for how long? Let’s run them up while we still can.”
“Nigga, you had me out shopping with you with a fraudulent card?” Pain asked angrily. Pain was a street dude, accustomed to selling drugs and pulling robberies, but fraud opened you up to a different kind of charge.
“Calm down, Pain. I had the situation under control and Julio was in on it, so nothing could’ve gone wrong,” Case told him.
“I was locked up with a dude who felt the same way until the feds picked his case up and they shipped him from state prison to some shithole in Iowa. They hit that boy with wire fraud and I think he’s sitting on ten years because of it. I don’t fuck with the federal government and neither should you. Them boys play different,” Pain warned.
“Chill, big homie. We got a whole system in place that spares us those kinds of headaches, thanks to modern technology. We buy the profiles from the web, which gives us access to names, dates of birth, socials, and some more shit. Once we got that, ol’ Vinnie works his magic on the computer and with the pressers and makes us duplicate cards. That old head is so good that his cards can fool any chip reader or security system that a store has in place,” Tyriq explained as if he was teaching a course on credit card fraud.
Pain looked to the old man at the computer, who still hadn’t so much as looked up from his work. “And what happens if that old-timer gets caught up? He doesn’t look like he’s got enough years left in him to do whatever time they’ll probably throw at him.”
“Vinnie is the last person we ever have to worry about talking,” Tyriq said confidently.
“What makes you so sure?” Pain asked.
“Because he’s deaf and mute,” Tyriq said with a smile. That explained why the old man barely acknowledged their presences and why Case and Tyriq spoke so freely in front of him.
“I leave behind a crew of some of the most qualified heist men in the city and come back to find out y’all have traded in your pistols for plastic.” Pain plucked the credit card from Case’s hand and examined it. He was familiar with scamming, but it had never been his thing. He liked to get it the old-fashioned way, with iron.
“Being a gangster ain’t about how you get it, but making sure you keep getting it.” Case snatched the card back. “I don’t know why you’re worried about it anyhow, considering you’re on some square shit now.” Then to Tyriq: “Our boy has hung up his guns in favor of a paycheck.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tyriq said in disbelief. He looked to Pain to deny Case’s claim, but his big homie said nothing. “Pain, you schooled half of us on how to hit licks. You trying to say you ain’t with the shits no more?”
“It ain’t like that, Riq. It’s just that I got this parole shit hanging over my head and I ain’t trying to go back to the pen for no dumb shit. My grandmother is getting old and I wanna spend whatever years she has left on this earth as a free man,” Pain explained.
“I can respect that, Pain. I wish I had someone out here who I needed to be around for, but I don’t. It’s just me so I live how I live. I could give a fuck about tomorrow, as long as I’m having fun today, feel me?” Tyriq asked.
“I feel you, Riq. I ain’t knocking nobody’s hustle, I’m just speaking for me. I gotta fall back for a minute,” Pain said.
“I hear you talking, square nigga,” Case capped before flopping on the couch. “Let’s see how long you stay in the background when them ribs start touching.”
CHAPTER 7
Passion sat in the back of her psychology class, trying her best to sit still and focus on the work. She was anxious for it to be over. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the class. Psychology was one of her favorite subjects. She was even fond of the professor who taught the course. Professor Higgins had been an around-the-way girl back in her day, so she wasn’t as square as some of the other instructors. She was down-to-earth and easy to talk to, and she always made it her business to check in with Passion to see how she was doing. Professor Higgins didn’t know Passion’s whole story, but she had a pretty good idea of what things were like in her house. She had gone to school with Uncle Joe.
She’d first learned of Professor Higgins’s relationship with Uncle Joe the previous semester. Passion wasn’t in her class yet, but she was fortunate enough to be one of a group of girls selected to be a part of her mentorship program. It was something that Professor Higgins had put together in conjunction with the school for the benefit of young girls. It wasn’t anything too heavy. She taught them stuff like résumé building, filling out college applications, and for those who needed it, feminine hygiene. You’d have thought that young women ranging from the ages of seventeen to twenty would’ve known how to take care of their bodies, but many didn’t. In addition to what was outlined in the mentorship program, Professor Higgins would often have deep talks with the girls about life in general. She understood that some of them lacked strong female representation in their homes, so she tried to set the best example that she could for them. Talking to Professor Higgins was more like talking to a big sister or auntie; she was by no means perfect, but she was real and that’s why the girls took to her the way they did, especially Passion.
Before becoming a part of Professor Higgins’s mentorship program, Passion hadn’t had any interest in psychology. Her original course of study when she’d signed herself up for community college was business management. She saw herself one day going on to become some big-time executive at some random corporation, but Professor Higgins had tapped into something deeper. Passion admired Professor Higgins a great deal. She would always be the first one to show up to the program and the last to leave. She was always hanging around Professor Higgins and trying to drink from the well of information that was her brain.
It was after one of these sessions that Passion learned of Professor Higgins’s relationship with Uncle Joe. Passion had stayed behind after the program had ended, which wasn’t unusual, but this particular evening they had gotten so caught up chatting that time got away from them and it was late. Passion was fine taking the train back uptown, but Professor Higgins offered to drive her. She was headed to Harlem anyhow, so it wasn’t out of her way. When they arrived on Passion’s block, Uncle Joe was sitting outside with some of his minions. He was all teeth when he saw that it was Professor Higgins driving the car that brought Passion home. She, however, didn’t return the enthusiasm he showed in seeing an old friend. She was cordial, likely for the sake of not wanting to offend Passion, but it was obvious that she didn’t have a lot of love for Uncle Joe. Back then, Passion didn’t know Professor Higgins well enough to pry into her business, but she had asked Uncle Joe about it. The cagey gangster smiled as if he was reliving some carnal memory and only offered: “Letti and me got history.”
It took several weeks of attending Professor Higgins’s program before Passion began to warm up to her enough to let her in on her personal life. In return, Professor Higgins did the same. Passion learned that at one time Professor Higgins had really been out there playing in the streets. As a youth she sold drugs and had even been arrested. It was due to some guy she had been dumb enough to sell drugs for who she wouldn’t name. Passion couldn’t be certain, but if she had to guess she would’ve said the guy was Uncle Joe. She had gotten probation instead of jail time. Almost going to prison was the turning point in her life. She got her shit together and put her focus back on school.
After graduation she enlisted in the military, where she served two tours overseas. During that time, she had been a part of a unit that had been personally responsible for the recovery of at least a dozen girls who were being trafficked throughout parts of Africa and the Middle East. It was her time spent liberating those poor girls that planted the seeds for the initiatives to help young women that she would start later in life. By the end of her final tour she had received her master’s degree. Shortly after arriving back in the states she continued her education, studying for her PhD while working a job in law enforcement. Though through all their talks, Passion could never remember her saying which branch. She would usually dance around the subject whenever it came up. After earning her PhD, Professor Higgins decided her skill set was better suited for education instead of incarceration, so she moved back to New York and accepted a teaching position being offered by BMCC. Passion had once asked her why she chose a community college instead of one of the more prestigious schools that had also been chasing her, and Professor Higgins replied: “Because I wanted to make a difference.” And that she had, at least in Passion. Professor Higgins had done something for the young girl that not even her parents had been able to do: dare her to dream. Passion went from admiring Professor Higgins to wanting to walk a mile in her shoes. This is what had inspired Passion to sign up for the psychology course.
But as much as Passion loved Professor Higgins and her class, school was the last place she wanted to be that day. It had been a struggle all day long for her to concentrate on her work because she had been thinking about Birdie. She hadn’t heard from her since she left her at the apartment that morning, which wasn’t like her. Ever since Passion had gifted her a cell phone, it seemed like Birdie spent all of her time on it. From the time she woke up until the time she went to bed, that phone was glued to her palm. She always texted Passion throughout the day while she was in school, but that day … nothing.
She was tempted to call Birdie’s school and find out if she had showed up that morning, but decided against it. That could possibly raise a red flag. All the girls who were underage and staying with Uncle Joe were on shaky ground when it came to child protective services. Uncle Joe and his connections had been able to keep them all under the radar so far, but all it would take was a reason and child protective services would be at their door. As she thought on it, that may not have been such a bad thing. She was almost eighteen so there wouldn’t be much they could do with her, but what about the other girls? What about Birdie? No, Passion would just have to suffer through her anxieties until her last class was over.
At 1:30 on the dot, Passion was out of her seat and headed for the classroom exit. She was thankful that it was her last class for that day, because she had been itching to hit the streets. She needed to get a line on Birdie ASAP. She figured if she hurried she could make it uptown to check the house, and if she wasn’t there, make it over to her high school before the students were dismissed for the day. She was about to slip out when Professor Higgins stopped her.
“Passion, could I speak with you for a minute?”
Passion sighed and made a U-turn. “Hey Professor Higgins, what’s up?” she smiled, trying to hide her mounting anxieties.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Professor Higgins perched herself on the edge of her desk and took off her glasses. She was an attractive woman with skin of deep caramel and eyes of the same hue. Her long, salt-and-pepper dreadlocks were pulled into a neat ponytail and tied in the back with a yellow and green-striped ribbon.
“How do you mean?” Passion faked ignorance.
“I mean, why weren’t you in my class today?”
Passion didn’t understand the question. “What do you mean? I was sitting in the same seat I sit in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
