Dollar Bill (20 page)

Klein began laughing. He found himself laughing alone.

“I don't have a dad, and neither do you,” Dollar said as he stood up and walked over to the trashcan to throw away the remainder of his meal. He had suddenly lost his appetite.

Dollar returned to the table where silence was still present.

“What are you going to do with yourself, Dollar?” Klein asked with sincerity. “You just gonna walk around mad at the world, holdin' grudges?”

“Why not?” Dollar replied. “Ain't that what you doin'?”

Klein sighed and continued. “Why don't you go to school, man?”

“Me, go to school.” Dollar laughed. “School ain't for me.”

“You've got a brain, don't you? You're capable of thinking, aren't you? So, why isn't school for you?”

“I don't know nothing but the street, Doc. I mean, I read a lot, but even the majority of that is just some ol' gangsta shit,” Dollar said.

“You know just as much as me.”

“Yeah, right.” Dollar laughed.

“I'm serious, man. Remember when I was younger, before you went to j . . . Well, anyway. You used to ask me all of those questions and pay me twenty-five dollars if I answered them correctly. A couple of times I gave you the wrong answers and you made me find out the true answer. I used to give you the wrong answers on purpose just to see if you even knew the answers to the questions yourself. And you did know.”

“Yeah, I did, didn't I?” Dollar said, grinning proudly.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Well, that was then and this is now,” Dollar said, becoming more adamant. “School is not an option for me. That's your thang.”

“And what's your thang?” Klein said, waiting for Dollar to respond. Dollar simply looked away. “Oh, let me guess, the thug life is your thang: big ballin' and shit. Fuck that street life, man. Fuck the streets.”

“Fuck the streets,” Dollar repeated angrily. “The streets is all I got. I love the streets and the streets love me back. Besides, I don't see you inviting me to come live out there in the 'burbs with you.”

Klein couldn't say anything. Dollar had shut him down.

“Well, I guess I better get going,” Klein said. “It's getting late and I, uhh . . .”

“You have to study,” Dollar reminded him.

“Yeah, I have to study.”

Dollar stood up and took his brother's trash to the garbage. He walked back over to the table where Klein was preparing to leave.

“You always been a friend to the streets, Dollar. I know this. I know you missed your freedom on the streets, but it ain't the answer,” Klein said. “The streets don't love nobody. I'm stitchin' up bullet wounds, knife wounds and treating AIDS patients daily. Do you think the streets love them? Look at Stephan Crouse. He sleeps with the streets every night. Does it look like the streets love him?”

Dollar looked away from his brother in silence.

“Look, Dollar, man. I'm not trying to end this on a sour note,” Klein told him as he turned to leave. “So let's just squash it. It was good kickin' it with you.”

“Yeah, me too, man.”

“You got a number or something?” Klein asked.

Dollar, surprised he's asked, responded, “Yeah, I have a cell phone.”

“No home phone?”

“Naw, all I need is a cell phone. The feds can't tap that,” Dollar joked.

“You staying over by the shore. That must mean your job is panning out pretty good for you. Those places over there are high as hell. You gettin' lots of gigs?”

“I can't complain. What about you? How's work at the clinic?”

“Oh, it's good. We just got a new grant from a private donor.”

“Well, that's good. Hell, free money is always good,” Dollar said.

“Not always,” Klein replied. “Not always.” There was dead silence. “Well, uhh, I guess I'll holler at you later.”

“Yeah, man.” He gave Dollar a hug, a passionate, brotherly hug. He looked up at Dollar then walked away.

“Yo, Doc,” Dollar called to him. “What athlete was on the cover of
Sports Illustrated
more than any other athlete?”

Klein stood and thought for a minute. “I don't know. Who?”

“Muhammad Ali,” Dollar replied.

“Oh yeah, that's right,” Klein said, winking, knowing the answer all along. “Muhammad Ali.”

Dollar smiled and watched his little brother until he was out of his sight, taking in the words his brother had just spoken to him. Perhaps Klein was right. Maybe the streets didn't love nobody. Dollar's ego wouldn't even allow him to entertain this concept for long. Of course the streets loved him. Didn't they?

“Did I look sexy up there for you?” Tommy said to her perspective Champagne Room client.

“Oh, hell yeah, ma,” the man who called himself Kube replied. “You looked good as hell dancin' up there on stage.” He had a toothpick hanging from between his lips.

“I bet you would like to take me in a dark room and let me give you a private dance, huh?”

“Yo, you'll do dat shit?” Kube said with his New York accent telling on his city of residence.

“You see that room back there?” Tommy said, pointing. “I can make it happen right there for you, baby.”

“You gon' take some shit off?”

“You tippin' proper?”

“Fo' shizzel,” Kube said, fondling the toothpick with his tongue and rolling it with his fingers.

“A'ight then,” Tommy replied. “You and Benji follow me.”

“Benji?” Kube questioned.

“Ben Franklin,” Tommy said, screwing up her mug.

“Damn, it's gon' cost me a hundred?”

“Oh, you a baller on a budget?” Tommy asked.

“No, ma. It ain't even like that,” Kube replied.

“Oh, you one of them cheap-ass wankstas frontin' like a gangsta.” Tommy knew the more she insulted his pockets, the deeper he would go into them to prove her wrong. She'd met his kind a thousand times.

“You see this shit right here?” Kube said, pulling out a thick wad of cash. “Do this look like
Monopoly
money to you?” Kube proceeded to peel off twenties and throw them at Tommy, who kindly scooped them up. “Let's go.” Kube took a sip from his drink and signaled to his two homeboys he rolled in with that he'd be right back.

Tommy showed Kube the way to the Champagne Room where Kube paid Bear one hundred dollars to enter. Tommy led him over to the couch and fetched the champagne.

Kube sat on the puffy black couch that many niggaz and hoes had fucked on over the years. He bobbed his head to the beat of the music as he stroked one of the purple, satin pillows that was on the couch.

“That's my shit,” Kube said, referring to the song that was coming through the speakers. “Can you turn that up?”

“Sure, baby, whatever you want,” Tommy said, turning the music up. With her back toward Kube, she began to pour the champagne.

“Can you turn it up a little more?”

“Just a little more. I want you to be able to hear me when I talk shit in your ear,” Tommy joked.

As soon as Tommy turned the music up a notch, she felt Kube's hands groping all over her.

“Slow down, baby. Let me finish this here and I'll be over to do my thang. You just go back over to the couch and wait for me.”

“I want my shit right here, right now,” Kube said.

“You want me to dance for you right here?” Tommy asked. “Don't you think the couch would be more comfortable? You can sit down and—”

“Bitch, stop playing games,” Kube said, cutting Tommy off. “I ain't pay no hundred dollars to get back here for no dance. Hell, you could have danced for me out here. A nigga trying to get some ass.”

“Well, you got me bent,” Tommy said. “Ain't no sex in the Champagne Room with me. You get a dance and that's it, nigga.”

“I thought hoes play when ballers pay.” Kube placed his hand down Tommy's crotch.

Tommy fixed her mouth to start cussing Kube out, but when she went to open her mouth, he rammed his tongue down her throat. Tommy knew if she got herself in the right position she could take Kube, but the trick had caught her off guard. The feeling of Kube's fingers plunging in and out of Tommy made her want to throw up.

Tommy was able to draw her hand up and slice her nails down the side of Kube's face. In retaliation, Kube grabbed Tommy by her hair and pulled her down to the ground, still kissing her and using his other hand to finger her. Tommy's resistance only excited him more.

As Kube was forcing Tommy down to the ground, she managed to grab onto the neck of the champagne bottle. Taking the bottle of bubbly down with her, she cracked Kube right over his head. This dazed him momentarily.

“You fucking cunt,” Kube said, grabbing his head as blood streamed down his face. “You're dead, whore. You hear me? You fuckin' dead!”

Tommy had already made her way to the door and summoned Bear to handle that nigga. Bear took one look at Tommy's desperate face and disheveled hair and could tell something wasn't right. He picked Kube up like a rag doll and escorted him out of the Champagne Room. The two dudes Kube was with noticed the commotion and darted across the room to have their homeboy's back. The two dudes were no match for Big Bear, who put all three of them out the club. Their punk asses knew they didn't want none of Big Bear. But at least they had the heart to run up on him.

“You all right, girl?” Storm said, entering the Champagne Room where Tommy stood, still shaken up, but was more pissed off than anything.

“Girl, yeah, I'm all right,” Tommy replied. “Son of a bitch. Niggaz kill me thinkin' just 'cause you dance for a living you fuck for a living, too, or that a big tip equals a quickie. Fuck this shit!”

“He didn't fuck you, did he?” Storm asked.

“No, but he was kissing me, and he stuck his fingers . . .” Tommy couldn't even finish she was so mad and disgusted.

“It's okay, Wine. It's okay. Girl, it's gon' be all right,” Storm said, hugging Tommy.

“I'ma get that New York bastard,” Tommy ranted.

“Girl, you know how these niggaz are. They think they can cut through our neck of the woods from the big city and treat us like trash. Fuck 'em, girl. Let it go. Trust me, they know better than to come up in here with that bull shit again.”

Tommy shook her head. Negative. Try as she might, she was a grudgeable bitch. She couldn't let this shit go if she wanted to. “I want you to handle his ass, Storm,” Tommy said.

“Girl, you just scared and angry right now,” Storm replied.

“No, I want you and Thunder to handle that fucker. How much is it gon' cost me? I got money.”

“Come on, Wine. You trippin'.”

Bear knocked on the cracked open door and peeked through. “You all right, Wine?” Bear asked Tommy.

“Yeah, I'm cool,” Tommy replied.

“I got that buster's license plate number and shit if you wanna press charges or anything.”

“It was probably a rental,” Tommy said pessimistically.

“Naw, that shit was customized,” Bear responded. “It wasn't no rental.”

Bear handed a piece of paper with the license plate number on it to Storm, who was closer to him, to give to Tommy. Storm took it from his hand. “I got this,” Storm told Bear. Enough said, Bear closed the door behind him. Storm tried to hand the piece of paper to Tommy, but Tommy pushed her hand away.

“Naw, you keep it. You gon' be needing it to track that nigga down. How much?” Tommy was hell bent on utilizing Storm and Thunder's services.

Storm thought for a moment. There was no way she could refuse to help Tommy. One way or the other, Tommy was gonna get at old dude. Storm figured she might as well let professionals take care of him.

“You know what, boo? This one is on me,” Storm said, lifting up her purple Crown Royal bag and sticking the piece of paper down inside it along with her tips. “As a matter of fact, by the time I finish cleaning out that nigga's pockets, it's gon' be on him.” Storm turned to exit.

“I want the full package, you know, M&M.”

Storm stopped and turned to face Tommy. “You sure about that?”

Without blinking Tommy said, “I'm sure.”

Storm shrugged. “All right then; Murder Mommies it is. And don't you worry. We gon' melt in that mafucka's mouth for sure: just like M&Ms.”

 

 

Dollar was standing outside of the work building talking to Jay when Kera walked up.
Please don't let her walk over here and speak to me. Please, God,
Dollar thought as he continued on with his conversation with Jay.

“Hey, Dareese,” Kera said as she approached Dollar.

“Damn,” Dollar mumbled under his breath as he tried to ignore her. He'd told himself not to mess with that young girl. Now getting rid of her was going to be like getting rid of ants at a picnic.

“Dollar,” Kera said, putting a little bass in her voice.

“Oh, hey, Kera, hey. Uhh yeah, hey,” Dollar stuttered. By this time, all eyes were on the boss's daughter. All eyes were green. Every one of them guys had used Kera as a motivating factor to jacking off. Their dreams were Dollar's reality.

“Yeah, uhh hey,” Kera replied as they each stood in silence. “Well, I just wanted to say hey.”

“Hey,” Dollar said.

“Hey,” Kera said, looking stupid as she walked away in humiliation. As she entered the building, she could hear the men begin to whistle and salute Dollar for his conquer.

“What's the matter, baby?” Redd said to his baby girl, seeing that she was a little disturbed.

“Nothing really,” Kera hesitated. She had a pretty close relationship with her father. She could talk about almost anything with him. When she started her period in school it was her father she called to talk to and not her mother. He took away the dirty feeling she had about having a period and made her feel clean again, like she was normal and entering womanhood. Well, right about now she needed to feel good and normal again. She turned to Redd. “Daddy, can we talk?”

 

 

“Yo, T, come on. Answer the door. It's me, Dollar,” Dollar said, knocking on Tommy's door like he was SWAT. After a few more pounds the door cracked open.

“Damn, girl, what took you so long? You ain't answering your phone or nothing,” Dollar said, but before he could get another word out of his mouth, he saw that the person who answered the door wasn't Tommy. It was her older niece.

“Hi,” the girl said. “You Dollar?”

“Yeah, I'm Dollar.”

“My aunt always talks about you. I'd know you anywhere. She has pictures of you in newspaper articles. You were going up the courthouse steps in one picture. You were in the courtroom in another. You look bigger in person.”

“Yeah, I'm a little bit bigger,” Dollar said. “Where is your aunt?”

“She's not feeling well. She's 'sleep, but I'm sure she'd want me to wake her up for you.”

“Is something wrong with the phone?” Dollar asked. “I tried calling.”

“Oh, the ringers are off. The phone kept waking her up. Do you want me to get her?” the girl said.

“No, it's cool,” Dollar said. “Just let her know I stopped by to talk about some work I got lined up.”

“'Kay,” the girl said as she watched Dollar walk away.

Dollar walked back to the car where Ral was waiting on him.

“She ain't home?” Ral asked once Dollar was inside the car.

“Yeah, she's home. She ain't feeling well or some shit. I need to holler at her when her head is right.”

“So you still wanna head over to Jimmy's to grab a bite and talk business?”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Dollar replied.

Dollar and Ral went on to Jimmy's, without Tommy, so that they could discuss their next move. The stickup Dollar had lined up was one that Ral and Tommy could handle on their own. Dollar wanted them to rob Mr. Owens. Dollar knew for a fact that Mr. Owens always carried a good amount of cash money on his person, and another good amount in the glove box of his Navigator. He wasn't a check writing or credit card using man. He liked dealing with straight-up cash. Mr. Owens always said that when you use cash money you get more for less because money talks. Dollar knew that they'd get no more than $9,000, but he still upheld the theory that free money was always good money.