Dollar Bill (9 page)

How in the hell was he going to explain things to his mother and Klein? He hoped they would forgive him and understand his reasoning for not wanting to stay in contact with them while in prison.

When he showed up on their doorstep, would they believe their eyes? Would they believe him when he told them that he was no longer dead as far as they were concerned, but that he had been resurrected back onto the streets by God?

“This funky-ass place is worse than the joint,” Dollar said as he brushed away an oversized cockroach that made its way up his arm. As it flew in the air, he followed it with his eyes. Upon its landing, he stomped it dead with his foot. Dollar scraped the cockroach off of the bottom of his flip-flop. Looking at the flip-flop reminded Dollar of the joint.

“I gotsta get me some real house shoes,” Dollar said out loud. Soon enough Dollar would catch back up with the latest fashions. It was now 2003 and things had changed plenty since 1994. Dollar would be back on top of his game in no time with the right planning. Dollar spent most of his days sketching out different types of stickups he could work. He was fiendin' for dem streets. Part of him understood how his father was drawn away by the call of the streets. But the other part of him kept saying,
fuck that! He had a wife and two kids. Something should have eventually brought his ass back home. Now look at him.
Ramelle Blake, aka Romeo, B.K.A. Midwest Serial Killer, had been sucked up by the streets. He set out to own the streets and the streets ended up owning him.

Yeah, Dollar was glad his father was able to rebirth him, but years of hate for this stranger overpowered a few months of liking him. He was glad that man would be sentenced to a slow death. After all, that was the sentence he'd given his family when he walked out of that door twenty-three years ago. Dollar swore he would never abandon his wife and kids like that, and to ensure such, he decided that he would never have his own family. Good conversation and pussy was all any role a woman would play in his life, but a wifey, hell no! He would father no children to abandon and would husband no woman.

So many cats in the prison had gone down because of their so-called wifey. Hoes start ratting those fools out when they knew and had access to what Store-N-Lock facility the Expedition and $600,000 in cash was located. Dollar wouldn't make that mistake. He wouldn't be one of those cats who spent years risking their life in the game to feed kids who weren't even his because a bitch done fucked one of his partners and got pregnant and didn't know who the damn daddy was. Talk shows and the news brought to light and aided in Dollar's list of do's and don'ts.

Speaking of family, Dollar had already been in Gary a week without looking up his mother and little brother. It was time to start the preparations for getting his life back. He needed to come at them with more than, “I'm out of jail and I'm just hanging out at the Y not doing shit with my life.” Dollar had to stop staring at the ceiling and make a move.

Dollar went into the communal bathhouse at the Y and got himself cleaned up. He spent $33.54 on some clothing items he picked up from a local thrift store. He pieced together an “I'm looking for a job” ensemble that consisted of a tan pair of khakis and a white three-button Henley. He roped a husky brown belt around his waist that was the same shade of brown as his boots. Dollar armed himself with the $54.67 he had left and the list of job contacts Ed had given him, and copped a ride on the city bus to the first address on the list.

Dollar hit the buzzer for the driver to stop the bus and let him off at the next stop. He walked a couple of blocks down Oak Street before he came to the address he was in search of.

“I'm looking for Redd,” Dollar said to the group of men hanging outside, in the cold, of the worn down–looking building that had a hand-painted sign that read
WORK FOR A DAY
.

The men pointed Dollar toward a double glass door. As he walked through the doors he could see, through the reflection, a few of the men screwing up their mugs at him. No one said it aloud, but those whom he managed to make contact with during his inquiry gave him that “yeah, that nigga just got out the joint” look. People saw a buff dude and automatically assumed he been locked up. Although Dollar looked as though he had been in the World Gym training for the Schwarzenegger Classic, the men were correct in their unspoken assumptions.

“Are you Redd?” Dollar asked the biker type–lookin' redneck sitting behind one of the two cluttered desks that were in the office.

“I am,” the man answered. “You come for work?”

“Yes, sir,” Dollar said.

The man laughed and replied, “No need for that ‘sir' shit. This ain't IBM or nothing like that. Next thing I know you'll be handing me a resume.”

Redd immediately handed Dollar a stack of papers to fill out. He informed Dollar that it was just some general liability waivers and whatnot. Redd gave Dollar a clipboard and a pen and invited him to have a seat.

“Can you read?” Redd asked Dollar.

“Excuse me?” Dollar said.

“Can you read?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Dollar said, taking offense. “A black man walk up in here for a job and you think he can't read?”

“Whoa!” Red exclaimed. “Slow down, brotha. Homeless men and white men with a first-grade education come up in here for jobs and can't read, or write for that matter. They get embarrassed and they run out of here and miss out on making money that could have afforded them their next meal. I hired Kera to help out those types. She reads and completes the paperwork for them. That's all I'm saying.”

Dollar, feeling a little salty, apologized to Redd. “That's good looking on helping out cats on the streets and those fresh out of the joint.” Dollar proceeded to complete the paperwork one sheet after another. As he completed the final page, which was more so biographical information, a soft aroma filled the air. Redd's Benson and Hedges menthol light smoke odor had been superseded by JLo's Glow, which was similar in scent to the Night Queen oil Dollar's mother would always wear.

Dollar looked up at the sweet young thing who was walking over to the second cluttered desk that sat behind Redd's. Ma had it going on. She was a soft, yellow-toned, petite flower. She wore her hair in a natural, curly bob that could have very well been a wet and wavy weave. She had a medium-sized frame with a chunky bootie. Dollar could see her panties because her jeans were gapping around her waist. Obviously she had to purchase larger-sized pants to get over her big ass.

“Filet fish with extra tarter, large fry, and large Sprite,” the girl said, handing Redd his lunch.

“That's my little girl,” Redd said.

“Oh, Daddy,” she replied.

Hell no,
Dollar thought. He couldn't believe Redd was sticking his finger into the chocolate pot. If this was Redd's baby girl, she had to be by a black woman. The first fine sista he saw and she's the boss's daughter. There went Dollar's vision of tagging dat ass.

“All finished, sir,” Dollar said, handing Redd the paperwork. “I mean, Redd.”

“Oh, just give them to Kera,” Redd said, pointing to the girl. “Kera, this is . . . I didn't catch your name. I guess I got off track thinking you were going to try to beat my ass after that statement about not being able to read.”

“Oh, come on now,” Dollar joked. “Let's squash that already.”

“I'm just joshing you,” Redd said.

“It's Dareese. Dareese Blake. But you can call me Dollar. That's my nickname. Everyone called me that as a kid.”

“Kera, Dollar. Dollar, Kera,” Redd said.

“Nice to meet you, Dolla,” Kera said seductively as she slowly slid the papers from Dollar's hand.

“Same here.” Dollar smiled.

Dollar knew that pussy was his if he wanted it. Compared to them raggedy dudes who were standing out front, Dollar was probably the finest muthafucka Kera had seen up in there. Dollar knew he was making an impression as Kera took the papers from him, not taking her eyes off of him once. No way was he going to run up in the boss's daughter. That would keep Dollar out of work for real. Love 'em and leave 'em was the game plan. He could see her now crying to Daddy. Dollar had to shake this one off. He couldn't go getting caught up with no chick. He had to focus on getting that paper.

“So, what can you do?” Redd interrupted Dollar's thoughts. Dollar looked puzzled. “What type of work can you do? What was your last job?”

“Oh, uhh . . . I can, uhh . . . It was, uhh . . .”

“Fresh out the clink, huh?” Redd embarrassed Dollar by asking him that in front of Kera.

Dollar didn't respond verbally. He answered Redd with his eyes.

“Thought so,” Redd said.

The fact that Dollar was a former jailbird seemed to attract Kera to him even more. Her eyes lit up for this beefed-up bad boy. Dollar knew right then and there that she was young, eighteen tops. She had that look in her eyes that little girls get when they get a whiff of a dangerous man: a man who ain't afraid of the streets, a man who would break another man's muthafuckin' neck for her ass.

“It's cool,” Redd assured Dollar. “Not everybody who comes through those doors have always been on the up and up. People need a break. Hell, I did a dime for the Feds.”

Redd looked as though he had done a decade that consisted of ten unrelenting years. This explained his hard look.

“Look, Ed sent me. I don't even know how this type of gig works. I just know I need some cash.”

“Ed.” Redd laughed. “That's a blast from the past. What's he been up to?”

“Same ol', same ol',” Dollar answered. “He's still a CO over in Chillicothe, Ohio.”

Redd almost choked on his French fries as he started laughing. “He's a CO? He never told me that. Ed used to terrorize the neighborhood. I always pictured him on the other side of the law.”

“You know I told you Uncle Ed was working as a CO,” Kera added. “That one time I went to visit Mommy in Ohio, I told you about Uncle Ed being a CO. He's only been a CO forever and a day.”

“Did you?” Redd said. “I don't remember.”

“That's why you need to lay off of that stuff, Dad.”

Redd gave Kera an evil look. He couldn't believe she was putting his business out there like that.

Sensing her father's anger, Kera got prissy. “It's not like he's deep cover. He just got out of jail, for Christ's sake.”

“You Ed's niece, huh?” Dollar asked.

“He's my ex's brother, Kera's mom's brother,” Redd answered for Kera. “Ed's cool. His sister's a bitch, but I don't hold that against him.”

“That's my moms you talking about,” Kera snapped.

“‘Bitch' is a compliment,” Redd tried to make Kera believe. “You're only seventeen. You'll know what I'm talking about in a few years.”

Damn,
Dollar thought.
She's only seventeen. I ain't going out like R. Kelly, people running around thinking I'm robbin' cradles and shit.
Not only was Kera the boss's daughter, but she hadn't even grown hair on her coochie yet.

Dollar's hard dick he had been concealing went limp. He wouldn't be putting it to use anytime soon on Kera. He didn't care if her eighteenth birthday was next week; underage was underage.

“Not for long,” Kera replied. “I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks.

It was almost as if Kera noticed Dollar's loss in interest in her and was aiming her comment more so toward him than her father.

“Oh yeah,” Dollar said with his eyes. On second thought, maybe he could hold off for a couple of weeks. By then that hot little pussy would really be ripe for the pickin'.

“Anyway, how this here thing works is that you can come hang out here every day and wait for some work to come through. It can be anything from cleaning offices to building a deck,” Redd said to Dollar. “With your size, I'm sure you'll be the first pick on the kickball team. Where you staying? Over at the Y, a halfway house?”

“The Y,” Dollar answered.

“Well, when you get yourself a phone I can call you up for work. Like I said, with your size, folks will be requesting you by name.”

“So, should I come back tomorrow?” Dollar asked.

“Yeah, if you don't want any work today,” Redd replied sarcastically.

“So, that's what the men outside are doing, waiting on work?” Dollar asked.

“Yeah, the folks who need workers, sometimes just for a day or sometimes for a full project, come through and scoop up workers,” Redd said, looking at his watch. “Yeah, it's still early enough. Somebody might come through looking for some workers. A few of my men have gotten on permanently at some gigs.”

It was all making sense to Dollar. Redd basically pimped out workers. Probably got a bonus when one got hired on permanently. But he had papers on them and paid taxes, which made it all legit.

Dollar knew he needed some change for his pocket so he decided to go hang out with the other dudes. He felt like a hooker waiting on a trick. After a couple of hours, some man pulled up in a pickup and went inside the building.

“That's Marlon,” one of the guys said. “Whenever he's down a man or two, he comes by here to find replacements.”

“What's the job?” Dollar asked.

“Construction,” the guy answered. “He frames houses and shit. Do you know anything about that?”

“If it's paying money I do.”

“That's what I'm saying.” The dude laughed. “I'm Jay.”

“Dollar,” Dollar said, shaking Jay's hand.

“You straight out the joint?” Jay asked.

“Damn. Is that shit written across my forehead or something?” Dollar joked.

“You know how it is out here on the streets,” Jay said. “You either homeless, a crackhead, or freshly released from that gated community. You don't look like a crackhead, and you don't smell homeless.”