The Banks Sisters (11 page)

“Sorry for that,” Cassius announced as he hurried back to rejoin her. After his “conversation” with Katrina in the hallway, Cassius was anxious to wrap up with Me-Ma. Secretly he was hoping Mrs. Banks wouldn't notice his rush to get her out of there. Katrina had been gracious, well maybe that wasn't the right word, desperate enough to offer him a nooner.

“No problem. It gave me time to sit with the Lord.”

“I need to say that as much as I appreciate your desire to add a religious component to this I really think that what you need is a good attorney.”

“When my husband and I prepared this last paperwork Pastor Jasper helped us and then we got a notary to sign it. Gale who used to be a member here.”

“And I would be honored to do that, but these days there are so many stipulations and loopholes that unless you have a law degree you can't figure it out. Not to mention you need to make sure that your document is air tight from what you told me about your daughter. Do you know our member, Sister Lauryn Shelton? She's incredible and I have had the good fortune of sending some of our other parishioners to her and they all raved about her.” He tried not to focus on his watch, but the blowjob he had been promised made it difficult to think about wills and deeds and whatever else Me-Ma wanted him to look at.

“I know that chile. Her grandmother was a good friend of mine before she passed.”

“Great. Why don't you call her office and her secretary will be able to make an appointment for you.” No sooner had the pastor finished with Me-Ma then he found himself with his pants down around his ankles and getting properly serviced by Katrina. There were two kinds of women who could be depended on to give the best blowjobs. Either big girls or ugly girls, it was almost like they had something to prove but whatever the case they made a lot of men happy.
Hell
, Cassius thought with a smirk they were the very reason somebody had coined the term, ‘booty-call' in the first place 'cause a man of his stature couldn't be seen publicly with them.

The pastor couldn't help but to be grateful about the perks of the job, he had them coming and going and they were more concerned about protecting his reputation so he rarely had to worry about things getting out. Katrina on the other hand was the exception and she was already starting to be a problem. He was a little sad that he'd have to end things with her after he shot his load into her mouth. Damn. He loved anyone who could swallow like a professional.

“Thank you for shopping at Nordstrom's,” said James, the cashier, a third year sophomore at VCU, who was working part, time for a few extra dollars to party and buy weed. But at that very moment, he would have traded a pound of the most exotic marijuana, for a taste of this exotic flower—gray eyes, long bone straight hair, stopping at the small of the back, right where the tightest designer Robin jeans in six inch Gucci stilettos standing at his register. Nordstrom's policy on pushing up on customers was clear; get caught, get fired.

But pussy trumped policy.

The cashier returned the credit card to the hottie along with two white shopping bags and a receipt for the purchase. “If you need any help with anyyyy . . . thing else, Ms. Green, I put my name and number on the back,” James said, gesturing toward the receipt.

You bold,
Ginger thought, of the cashier and then snickered to herself . . .
and cute.
But he also wasn't in her league and was clueless. Clueless about her name; the cloned credit card she'd used was in the name of Rebecca Green, and clueless about her sex. Or was he?

Ginger put the plastic away, next to the other four in her cross body Louie bag, and returned the cashier a beautiful smile. “I doubt if you'd be able to handle me,” she said, with a raised eyebrow before stepping away toward the store's exit.

Ginger handed both of the bags to Deidra, who was waiting outside.

“Is everything in there?” she asked, Ginger, who was the youngest of her children. She'd always been the one who'd tried the hardest to please their mother, even when Deidra didn't deserve a damn thing, which was most of the times, never. The woman was possibly one of the most selfish women on the planet. All she cared about was her self, and what was best for her; no one else, not her children, not her mother, just herself, Deidra.

Up until this afternoon, as usual, Ginger's plans had been to do her thing solo, especially when she tightened plastic. When doing dirt, she always preferred to do it alone. This was her preference and her motto. Just in case, if something went wrong it was no one else to blame, just herself. And she didn't have to break bread with anyone, unless she chose to. But the main reason Ginger preferred to work ‘dolo,' instead of with an accomplice it eliminated the stress of worrying about that person, down the line, ratting her out in order to get themselves out of a jam.

A crease wrinkled her plans after she got a call from her mother before leaving the house. For ten minutes Deidra prattled her way about a two-week vacation to the Caribbean, she and her “friend” were taking. Ginger hadn't bothered asking if her “friend” was a man or not, because Deidra only had male friends.

Before she knew it, Ginger had been persuaded into agreeing to not only get her some things, but to let Deidra to accompany her to mall.

Of all the siblings, Ginger was the one who yearned Deidra's approval and jumped through hoops to get it. Deidra took advantage of it every chance that she got.

Ginger racked up more than twelve grand in charges on designer clothes, shoes and accessories, for Deidra to take on her trip—not including the two shopping bags from Nordstrom's—to five separate, bogus credit cards. “You going to be the best dressed bitch your age on the cruise,” she said to her mother.

Just as Deidra was fixing to say something, a tall black man with chocolate complexion, walked by. Ginger thought he resembled Morris Chestnut. His chocolate drop eyes thoroughly inspected Ginger and Deidra's assets. And before keeping it moving, a smile creased his face, like a dog trespassing on a truck, with racks of prime cut filet mignon.

“Ahmen.” Deidra cleared her throat, as if the way her dress clung to her bubble butt and toned legs. “Thanks for the compliment,” she said to Ginger, referring to being the flyest bitch her age, on the trip. “But make no mistake about it,” Deidra added, “Deidra Banks look good for
any
age.”

Good genes ran in the Banks family: and Deidra was blessed with a closet full of them, enough to pass down to her four children, and plenty left over for herself. Something she proudly passed on to each of her children.

As they were leaving the outdoor style mall, Ginger put a little extra in the sway of her hips, matching Deidra's high-heeled strut bounce for bounce. Strangers mistook the two for sisters, clueless to just how clueless they were.

“Where do you want to do lunch?” Ginger asked, enjoying their time together, something that rarely, if ever happened when she was a child. “It's on me.”

“Oh! My! God!” Deidra heels anchored into the linoleum stopping her strut. Ginger followed the path of Deidra's eyes, which were locked on the bag in the window of the Louie Vuitton store. “Damn,” said Deidra obsessing over the design of the purse. “That thing right there would look so good on my arm,” she said.

Ginger looked at the small rectangle card, connected to a string, from the inside pocket of the purse, $3,200.

Which was a problem, five thousand was the limit on each of her cloned credit cards and she had already ran through half of her limit on all of them. It was only one way to cop the bag that her mother wanted. She would have to use two cards, and even then, she would be well over the amount that she usually charged on any piece of stolen plastic.

It was no need in pushing her luck anymore today, “How about if I get it for you next week, Ma?”

“That's cool,” Deidra said, sucking her teeth, before pouring a cold glass of guilt. “Too bad the trip isn't next week, huh? I guess I could carry it when I get back from the trip, huh?”

Ginger had to fight to keep from laughing at her mother's shameless attempt to con her. When Ginger was young, the rare times Deidra was around, Ginger would do anything to make her happy and proud of her to make her want to spend more time with her. Back then, nothing Ginger did ever worked, but to this day, she never quit trying.

“Let me go in, and check the temperature.” Meaning she wanted to get a feeling for the vibe inside the store. “If it looks right, I will swing it for you. No promises.”

“Are you sure that's what you want to do?” Deidra asked as if it was all Ginger's idea. “Because I have no problem waiting.”

“Is that right?” Ginger began walking away. “Then we can fall back and go get lunch then. I'm starving,” she put her stomach on her hand.

“But since we are already here,” Deidra said reaching out grabbing Ginger's arm, before she could take another step. “You might as well . . . aha . . . go ahead and check the temperature.”

“Wait here.” Ginger flipped her weave and went inside the store.

In her mind, she swore that Deidra was the only person that Ginger ever cared about getting approval from. But it wasn't true. Ginger aspired to be rich. To look rich and be respected as a rich woman, everywhere she went. This was the reason why she hustled and played with the credit cards the way she did. Not because she needed to, but because she liked the feeling of compliments and the attention she got when put on the clothes. Unlike Tallhya she didn't need a man to validate herself. Her beautiful, extravagant “things” never failed her.

The scent of the new Louie's was intoxicating upon entrance to the store. The smell of richness was the aroma of the place. It reminded her of that new car smell, not that fake shit, the “car-scent” they try to pedal in the auto stores. This smell triggered something in Ginger's head, that made her remember how bad she wanted that new convertible Lexus in her life.

“May I help you with something?” The saleslady was an anorexeric-looking chick with shockingly bright blond hair, which the roots let on, was so not her real color.

Besides Ginger, there were two other customers in the store, a couple, who were, being stalked by the only other salesperson looking for a sure commission.

Ginger instincts told her to fall back, and she'd planned to listen. So that she wouldn't look too crazy, before leaving, she asked to see one of the purses from behind the counter.

It was the same model as the one displayed in the store's window. The one her mother almost broke a heel and her neck trying to stop to get a better look at.

Olive Oil flipped her neon hair over her shoulder as if she had better things to do, than her job.

This bitch is tripping, Ginger thought. Reluctantly, Olive Oil fetched the bag, but not before bluntly informing Ginger of a small detail, “It's $4,100, and we don't have layaway and we never have sales or markdowns.”

Ginger exhaled and thought to herself.
Girl, don't even let this definitely in need of a French-fry heifer fade you. Thank the bitch for her help and keep it moving.
But emotions got the better of her. “I'll take the matching wallet also,” she firmly said. Then plucked two credit cards from her own Louie wallet. “I'm trying to earn frequent flyer miles so divide the total.”

Ginger's eyes were glued on Olive Oil as eyes were fixed on the two credit cards in her hand as she was trying hard not to shit a brick. I'm going to have to see some identification, “Mrs.,” another quick glance at the plastic then back to Ginger, “Rebecca Paige.”

She smirked then added, “Not mines, but it's the store's policy.”

I'm sure it is,
Ginger thought. Since the surge of online shopping, stores rarely asked for ID anymore to confirm credit card purposes. All that was needed was the card number, which Ginger had memorized.

Olive Oil was being a smart alek, and hating, either that, or was hipped to game.
All in all, she better be happy that she's getting this damn commission.

Negative thoughts was a cancer, Ginger shook the negativity out of her space and into space. She dug into her wallet and found the ID that matched the fake card. The same dude that had hooked her up with the plastic, one of her friends with benefits, had supplied her with a complimentary ID. Doug told her, better to have it and not need it then to need it and not have it.

She smiled, thinking of Doug's words in her ears. That's why she fucked with Doug; he was smart and great in bed. Ginger passed Olive Oil the fake driver's license that Doug insisted that she take with her. Olive Oil checked the creds. After seeing the headshot of Ginger smiling for the camera above the name Rebecca Paige, she reluctantly swiped the Visa and American Express, splitting the price of the purchase, on the two the cards just as Ginger had asked.

“Thank you Darling.” Bag in hand, Ginger showed the raggedy bitch her back and sashayed out of the store.

Without breaking stride, she nodded a quote, “lets go,” to Deidra. It wasn't until she was inside of Ginger's six year-old Honda, with engine running, did Ginger start to relax. Even then, she still felt a little uneasy, which was odd for her. Usually it was an adrenaline rush, but not today.

“Lets go to Ruth Chris,” oblivious to Ginger's anxiety, I got a taste for one of their juicy tender steaks.”

The mall was behind them. The Honda headed east on 64. On the radio August Alsina's, “
If I Make it Home,”
played.

Ginger turned up the volume. Being as if they were at the club, three strobes of light bounced off the dashboard. “What the fuc—”

Police.

 

9:00 p.m.

 

 

“Ringggggg . . .” Spoe and Bunny's house phone rung, which was a surprise because it almost never did.

The two old friends sat on the couch looking at each other knowing damn well that it couldn't possibly be the call that they were waiting for, but nevertheless Spoe got up to answer it. He looked at the caller ID and it read: UNKNOWN.

“Hello,” he said into the receiver.

The automated recording immediately, starting talking, “You have a prepaid call from,” there was a brief pause and then Ginger spoke her name, prompting Spoe to call out Bunny's name, “Ayo Bunny! Babe!”

Then the recording sprung back into action, “From the Henrico County Jail. Please hang up to decline, or press zero to accept ”

Spoe couldn't press the zero quick enough to accept the call.

“Hello,” Ginger, said.

“Yo,” Spoe said, “the fuck?”

“They knocked me off coming out of the Louie store.” Ginger was about to give Spoe the details, when Spoe cut her off.

“How much the bail?” Spoe asked as Bunny walked up and he said, “It's Ginger, she down Henrico.”

“The magistrate ain't give me no bail,” Ginger informed Spoe.

“Don't worry, the judge gone give you one in the morning. Hold your head and Bunny gone be there to get you,” Spoe promised then handed Bunny the phone.

Bunny took the phone out of Spoe's hand, “Bitch, what the hell happened?”

Spoe corrected Bunny quick, “Don't ask her that on 'em phones. You know ‘em people listening right?”

Bunny nodded to Spoe, agreeing and then he spoke into the phone to Ginger, “I'm going to be there in the a.m. to get you. Okay. So hang in there,” and in Me-Ma's voice, “joy going to come in the morning.”

Bunny could tell that her last comment marking their grandmother managed to put a slight smile on Ginger's face.

The rest of evening went by at a snail's pace for Bunny thinking about Ginger as well as, Spoe and Tariq waiting for Tiffany to finally call.

“Man this shit is whack, you know we not use this. Waiting around for a call to move,” Spoe was right. He was one of those people that he like ritual, he was organic and believed that's how things should be. Not forced but should come when he felt it in his gut. With his balls and heart out of the equation, that was a lot of the reason he was so successful at what he did, he always trusted his instinct.