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  BG quickly held up his hand, waving Avery off. BG was aware that the Bezel brothers took Judo, and that Dre was very capable of carrying out the threat. BG did not desire to find out. Avery backed off and then Dre tossed BG toward him and they both stumbled.

  “Dre, you have it all fucked up. I come in peace.” BG pleaded, massaging his throat. He flamboyantly snapped his finger and Avery left the locker room.

  Dre could not believe what he had seen. He snapped. Avery disappeared. Who the fuck is this guy, Houdini? Dre thought. With the locker room to them, Dre spoke calmly. “I don’t know why you have been threatening me, but this shit right here, better be kosher.”

  “Listen, Dre, I have a proposal for you to make some good money—”

  “I’m not interested in being your body guard.”

  “Funny,” BG said. “I need you to use your influence and cop for me in Philly.”

  Dre’s face turned angry. “You mean my blackness. What the fuck I look like letting you set me up? Fuck my chance up to go to USC, because I was caught up in some dope bullshit. Picture dat!”

  “Set up! I’m talking about $800 a run to get down with me. Hell you’re talking all this Lakers and Hollywood shit. Your people got cash, but not Beverly Hills cash.”

  What, dis mutha-fucka got my people bank account statements? “Come on. Why is it all of a sudden you need me? I’ve been in this school for two years and you’ve been doing your thing without me. You don’t need me.”

  “Look, I’m not explaining myself, but, bottom line, Trigger got booked crossing the Mexican border with 1,000 bricks of fish scale in his trunk. I can’t, as you know, take my ass back down North.”

  “I helped your silly ass once and you swear that I set you up. So why ask me again?” Dre shook his head and said, “This shit seem funny.”

  “Ain’t shit funny. Trigger claimed that some dude named Ice probably had them young nigga’s rob me. He wired my money. My bad for accusing you.”

  “First off, cracker,” Dre said and pointed his index finger hard into BG’s chest. “White boys cannot say nigga. Fuck what you see on TV and hear in raps.” Dre let that sink in and then said, “I’mma help you out.” He had sold his soul to the devil.

  “I’ll cop for you, but I want $1,000 a run along with a rental car for each run. And you better not tell anyone this shit,” Dre said sternly.

  Without any hesitation, BG jumped on it. “No problem. Here’s my new cell number.” BG pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Dre. “Meet me in the Sears parking lot at the mall tonight at nine o’ clock.”

  “No doubt. Be there, alone.” Dre warned. ***

  Outside the locker room, BG pulled out his cell phone and dialed it. When the call was answered he said, “You were right. Enlisting a monkey was easy.” He then added, “And it’s true, all of them want to make a quick buck.”

  “And prisons prove they’ll do anything to get it,” the man on the other end remarked and then chuckled. The man ended the call, and then pressed stop on his recorder.

  CHAPTER 4

  Kareem waited in the long bank line for twenty minutes, aggravated, but patient. The moment when he approached a teller seemed like an eternity had passed. He smiled at her and thought, Act I, Scene 2.

  He explained to her, he was a bank customer and headed to the University of Miami that summer. He looked at her coyly, and then added, “You’re way too busy to hear my life story—”

  “Please, go ahead. I could use the break.”

  “Oh! Since we’re being honest, my dad sent me in here to handle this cash advance all on my own.” He lied. “He bet my mother that I will get this transaction all wrong.” He paused and glanced at the limo. The teller’s eyes followed his. “Yeah, they are out there making wagers, right now, on whether I’ll leave this bank with the cash.”

  The teller grinned. She was hooked onto his con. To fully reel her in, he passed her an Internet printout from the Miami Herald.

  “I’m going to be staying here,” Kareem told her, as her eyes widened at the monthly rent.

  She read the ad aloud. “Coral Gables, two bedrooms—”

  “One for my gear.” Kareem interrupted her from deeply analyzing the ad.

  “It must be nice. To do a cash advance, I’ll need a credit card and ID.”

  Kareem slid the John Carter American Express and his counterfeit school ID across the counter. “I need two months rent, and two months security.”

  She looked over his credentials, but a $9,600 cash transaction needed more reassurance. “Do you have a license?” Kareem leaned into the counter and whispered, “I hate to sound condescending, but Philippe drives. I simply ride.”

  The woman smiled, and three minutes later, Kareem walked out the bank $9,600 richer.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dre stepped out the locker room and contemplated the problems that he faced dealing with BG. His pre-suburban days had been filled with hustling cocaine and weed on one of the meanest turfs in Philadelphia. He was arrested at William Penn High School and, Delores’ wrath was lethal. His mother was especially upset to learn that he had skipped school and commited robberies and home invasions, even if they were against drug dealers. She was concerned for him sure, but she was more concerned with the misery that she’d face losing a son.

  Dre walked into the school lobby and was greeted by a soft, passionate kiss from Tasha, his prize. Tasha had a jasmine hue and doe-like jade-colored eyes. She was beautiful and brainy, and tripled as the head cheerleader, and a member of the Math Counts team.

  “So—do you miss your girl?” she whispered.

  Dre loosened his grip on her and asked, “What kind of question is that? Of course, I did, Tash.”

  Tasha bent to pick up her books, but Dre grabbed her arm and told her, “I’ll take these, cutie.” Dre snaked his arm along her waist and pulled Tasha closer to him as they walked to her car. Her long, jet-black hair rested softly on her shoulders and blended perfectly with her black calfskin winter coat. Arriving at her dated Nissan Maxima, Dre thought about the new car that he would buy her.

  His mind had played tricks on him. He had come too far to go back to his destructive behavior. College scouts across America wanted him for his football talent. A few schools had dual scholarships for his track and field performance, as well. He had hours to weigh his options. Prayerfully, the reasons not to hustle tipped the scale.

  Dre tossed the bags into the back seat and entered the car. Tasha turned on the radio and tuned to Power99, the urban/ contemporary station. She left the school grounds, as Usher’s duet with Alicia Keys, My Boo, filled the car. Dre listened as Tasha sang and drove, affectionately looking over at him., He envisioned the first time that they had had sex. Tasha had moved as freely as she did when she caught pom-poms. Her gymnast flexibility added to her allure. The Nissan crossed route-202, and the song became an afterthought. Something new had consumed Dre and Tasha, as they watched Kareem walk out of a bank and get into the limo that Dre had watched pull off from the school moments earlier.

  CHAPTER 6

  With $9,600 stuffed into his socks, Kareem emerged into the Four Seasons Hotel and approached the front desk clerk. He had made a reservation en route to the fabulous hotel. He gave the clerk John Carter’s credit card. She imprinted it and handed it back. She tapped a few keys on her computer, grabbed a receipt from the printer and had Kareem sign it. He did, John Carter, and she gave him a plastic key programmed to open his suite.

  “I am a tad short on cash, could I have a cash advance?” Kareem asked, as he slid the American Express across the counter again.

  Kareem walked across the lobby, $500 wealthier, and smiled to himself. The rush was palatable. He checked his watch and it read: 3:45. He needed to get home before the five o’clock activities school bus did, to avoid anyone from knowing that he was not at debate team practice, but fraud practice.

  Before the lobby doors opened, and he was scott-free, the clerk called out, “
Mr. Carter!”

  There went the essence of his glory. What could she want?

  Kareem became deaf, and continued to walk. A bellhop stopped him and said something, while pointing toward the front desk. Damn, he thought, as he walked back to the front desk.

  “Mr. Carter. I inadvertently neglected to ask for ID. Could you let me copy your photo for our records?”

  Oh, he thought. That’s it. “My wallet is inside the limo, tucked inside of my luggage. As soon as I unpack, I’ll bring it down to you.” Surely, you are not copying my face.

  Twenty minutes later, the Jaguar limousine parked on Philadelphia’s trendy Walnut Street. Kareem stepped out the limo and rushed into the Ralph Lauren Polo boutique.

  Within minutes, Kareem walked three long-haired cashmere sweaters, two track suits, and a large duffle bag to the counter. There was no line. He gave the clerk John Carter’s credit card and moment later the register spat up a receipt.

  Philippe opened the limo door for Kareem, as he exited the Polo shop. Kareem told the driver that he was headed to Banana Republic, to serve, conquer and destroy the establishment.

  In Banana Republic, he found a chocolate, wool army coat and dark-navy wool flat-front pants. The pieces totaled $262. He handed the clerk the hot wax.

  “Do you have ID sir?”

  “No. I don’t need it.”

  “Sure you do. BR policy states that any purchase over $250 must be secured by showing ID.”

  “Sir, I am unconcerned about any store policy of that sort.

  The law states that I do not have to show you any identification to make a credit card purchase. If you’d like, I’ll have my lawyer tell the store manager.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the man said and completed the purchase.

  Kareem exited the store, but before he entered the limo, he discarded the receipt from both Polo and Banana Republic.

  That a boy, Kareem. Never leave a paper trail.

  Before heading back to the suburbs, Kareem toured the up- to-the-minute Walnut Street. Mr. John Carter bought him everything that he wanted from Burberry, Coach, Diesel, Distante, Puma, and Wayne Edwards.

  CHAPTER 7

  The polished rosewood table in the Bezel dining room was quiet, save for dinner forks meeting fine china. The Venetian hand-blown vase in the center of the table was home to fresh roses, the scent that filled the room.

  Kareem Bezel, a lover of Italian cuisine, basked in his mother’s savory lasagna. He looked around the table at everyone searching for the words to open the floor to a conversation. He found none. Surely, he could not speak about how he ravaged John Carter’s plastic that day.

  Eli, the step father, sat in his medical coat, eating and reading a medical journal. He was a biomedical engineer and he worked to stay on top of his profession, finding a cure for diabetes. Time had proven that Eli was a good man, especially since he believed that his wife did not have to work. He was not the poster boy for a caveman, though. Delores did run a home based interior decorating company.

  Andre Bezel sat at the table without an appetite. So many things ran through his mind. Each thought passed the baton to another, in what seemed like a race to another galaxy. He looked around the table sure that he would destroy that happy home if he was arrested for selling drugs.

  Dawn Berryman, Eli’s only child by Delores sat in her chair with a glow on her face, so priceless that it could shelf Cinderella. Her two ponytails bounced vivacious curls each time she moved her head. She was an eight-year-old third grader that was more diva than student.

  After dinner, Delores walked upstairs to Dre’s bedroom door and heard, “I don’t know what you heard about me, but I’m a mutha-fuckin’ p-i-m-p.” She gave the door a knock worthy of scaring a felon on the run, and then entered without his response. She lowered the stereo and Dre turned from staring out the window.

  “Who the hell is that?” Delores asked him, disgusted by the vulgar line. Every since they moved to the suburbs she had a problem with hip-hop.

  Dre chuckled and told her that it was 50-Cent.

  “He raps more like he has no sense,” she told him smiling. The suburbs had softened her up a tad. “Close the door when you’re listening to that crap.”

  “Aiight.”

  “Why are you staring out of that window like that? What’s on your mind?”

  “This Probability and Statistics test tomorrow,” he told her and pulled the textbook from the windowsill.

  “I don’t know how you’re studying with that rapper adding his two cents,” she told him and walked out the door.

  He yelled, “That’s 50-Cent, mom.”

  With Delores gone, Dre continued to mentally calculate the probability that he would become a drug-lord, and the statistics that he would be a seventeen-year-old in prison for life.

  ***

  Kareem was in his room checking his investments on-line.

  He also scrolled through CNN.com for the latest world news. After he caught up on the current events, he pulled out his duffle bag and began to hang the clothing he—well, John Carter—bought earlier. On a shelf in his walk-in closet, he put all the pieces into their proper place, including the cash.

  CHAPTER 8

  At six-fifteen that evening, Kareem pulled into the King of Prussia mall parking lot and gave his car, a pearl white Lexus ES300, to the Neiman Marcus’ department store valet. He had worked for the elitist boutique for six months and had access to his grandmother’s car. He checked his Etro tie in the valet booth mirror, before he and Dre shook hands and parted ways.

  Dre had passed several of his classmates as he went to meet Tasha. The mall was a hangout for the Upper Merion High students. He could not wait to show Tasha off through the mall. He turned into the food court and instantly saw Tasha standing there with a pretty smile on her face. She jogged over to him and they hugged tightly. Tasha’s younger sister Sasha and her best friend Talibah walked over to them. Dre and Talibah stared at each other intently. It was a lustful intent, indeed.

  “Hey, Dre,” Talibah said softly, not letting her voice go to the sexual octave she desired it to reach. Her chocolate complexion could put Hershey out of business. That day she wore light pink lipstick, and a tight short hair do.

  “What’s good, Tah and Sasha?” Dre replied smoothly, letting Tasha go.

  “So, where to now, because I know you have been through here showing off,” he told them checking out Tasha from head- to-toe.

  “I don’t know about them,” Tasha said, pointing at her pals, “but, I’m going where ever my man takes me.”

  “Don’t get cute because you have a boyfriend,” Sasha told her sister and rolled her eyes.

  “Not boyfriend. Man friend! Something that you need, okay, boo-boop,” Tasha replied laughing. She grabbed Dre’s arm and said, “Tootles. Call your girl when you’re ready, or find a man, whichever comes first.”

  ***

  Kareem walked around Neiman’s men department. He was

  bored, but enjoyed work, and all of the benefits that came with it, but his mind was not there that night. That changed when Toi entered the department. His night was suddenly bright. They hugged as if they clung to life with the embrace.

  “I didn’t think that you were playing the mall tonight with you on punishment and all that jazz.”

  “My mom is trippin’, but she let me come here. I have to buy a gift for my grandparent’s anniversary.”

  “Oh, so she’s using you to buy the gift,” he said, jokingly.

  Toi had an un-tanned, golden complexion, all wrapped tightly around a stature mirroring a Nelly video vixen. She was half Filipino and Black. The exotic look was lethal, but she had a lot of African features available to the eye.

  “Slavery that I am cool with,” she said, and stepped closer to him. She wrapped her hands around him and gave him an amatory kiss. “How else would I have given you that?”

  “You couldn’t, and I needed that,” he said. He was mesmerized by her a
llure. His cell phone rang and he answered it. Dre informed him that he would get a ride home from the mall with Tasha, so there was no need for Kareem to wait for him. Kareem hung up and told Toi that he had to get back to work.

  ***

  Later that night, Dre arrived to the Sears parking lot and spotted BG leaning on his Camry. He paced towards the car, and wondered what his life had in store after that transaction. He didn’t believe the hurdles that he had jumped to get away from the drug game. And there he was up to his old criminal behavior again. What would Kareem think about his decision to follow in their father’s footsteps and possibly earn a life sentence, just like dear old dad? There was no need to contemplate the question at that point. He was there, and going for it. Period!

  “Glad that you could make it,” BG said, as Dre approached him.

  “Save the small talk. Where’s my gym bag? Good lookin’ for grabbing it from the field,” Dre replied. He was properly preparing the tapes for possible undercover recordings.

  BG looked at him perplexed and Dre ran his thumb over his four fingers, indicating for BG to show him the money.

  “Just what I like, a true business man.”

  Dre ignored BG’s quest to garner respect, as the white boy opened his trunk. He grabbed a gym bag with the high school logo on it and slammed the trunk shut. He passed the bag to Dre, and said, “That’s $13,000 cash. I need a half-K of powder —“

  “What the fuck are you talking about, clown?” Dre said cutting him off. He threw the bag over his shoulder, and asked, “Car keys?”

  BG passed along the keys to a Chevy Impala and informed Dre that he needed to be careful with the rental. Dre, without a response, turned and walked to a white Impala. He jumped into the driver’s seat, after he tossed the bag into the trunk. He pulled off into the night and left BG to wonder if he had been scorched again by Andre Bezel.