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  “Put me down.” She demanded. She hated being treated like a baby.

  After he placed her onto the floor, she asked, “Can you take me to the movies today. Mommy is busy?”

  “I’m not going there, but I am going to dinner with Toi. If you want to go there, I’ll take you with me.”

  “What about the museum?” Delores asked.

  “Yeah, take me to the museum, brother, please.” Dawn exclaimed, hugging him to convince him to take her. Now she wanted to be a baby.

  “Mom, see what you’ve done. I don’t have money for all that.” He told her lying. He actually felt bad taking his mother’s money when he was sure that he had more than her. Surely, he had to pretend that he was just as broke as any other sixteen-year-old, not born with a silver spoon. He had thousands invested with Merrill Lynch and a handsome coffer at Wachovia Bank.

  “You take her and I’ll pay for both you and Toi.”

  “Deal! Let me get dressed and make a run. I’ll be back for her.”

  “What time, Kareem?” Delores asked with a sassy hand on her hip.

  “One,” he yelled as he went up the steps, nearly bumping into, and not acknowledging Dre, who came down the stairs.

  ***

  Dre walked into the kitchen and rinsed his hands before he fixed himself breakfast. He didn’t greet his mother or sister.

  “Have you lost your ever lasting mind?” Delores asked him. “You don’t walk into my kitchen as if you pay the damn taxes, and I’m the hired help. It’s disrespectful to enter a room and not speak to the occupants.”

  “Hello mother. Hey, Baby D,” he responded, somberly. “Don’t roll off that side of the bed again.” Delores warned. “Dre want to go with me and Kareem to the museum

  today?”

  Dre didn’t care to be in the same house with Kareem, let alone at a museum. He sat at the table in a throwback Sixers warm-up suit and Nike Air Force Ones. He had planned on eating and getting out of King of Prussia soon thereafter.

  “No, not this time. I have other plans.”

  “Like what?” Delores asked, with a furrowed eyebrow. “Like visiting Aunt Renee.” He said that freely, knowing

  that he was not allowed anywhere near 17th and Jefferson Streets. He was forbidden from that area because his mother blamed the neighborhood for manipulating her son into becoming a menace like his father. She did not want him down there under any circumstances, and Andre Bezel’s hardhead knew that.

  Even though she had a dental hygienist certificate, Aunt Renee could not do anything with it. She remained in the grip of her crack habit, relapsing every time she got treatment. So there she was in the hood, living on the dole.

  “You’re not going to no damn, Aunt Renee’s. And you know why. I will not have this talk with you again, and not in front of Dawn.”

  “But, I want to see...”

  “You know, you never cease to amaze me, Andre. After living up here in a clean, quiet environment you want to be around such filth.”

  “Aunt Renee is not filth.”

  “Don’t play with me. There’s nothing down there. Nothing! You do not see Kareem wanting to be anywhere near that place.”

  He had heard enough and stood to walk out the kitchen. He stopped, to leave his mother with a thought: “I am Andre Alexander Bezel. I am not Kareem Jamel Bezel. The sooner that you recognize that we are two different people, the sooner you’ll realize I’m not going to be a nerd, or go to Harvard. I can’t wait until he messes up and ruins your perfect little picture.”

  Delores walked over to him and put her index finger into his chest. Steam rose from her forehead. “Don’t-you-e-va-dis-re-spect-me-a-gain!” she said, warning him. Each syllable ended with a jab to the chest. “For all of that mouth, you can keep your black-ass in the house all weekend. You’re going to be just like your sorry ass father: a jail bird. You can go to jail after you graduate and get from under my roof. If I catch you in North Philly, and I will, I promise that your room will begin to feel like a cell. Now get out of my kitchen!”

  “Now get out of my kitchen,” Dawn said, mimicking her mother. She added to Dre’s feeling that everyone hated him.

  Delores flopped into a chair. She was on fire. Hard as she worked to navigate her children to successful careers, Dre was determined to be defiant. She would not allow it, though. She steered him right, and was not having him veer left.

  Dre walked to his room and wondered why his life was so complicated. He hated being compared to Kareem, especially, now that he knew, Kareem was not all that perfect.

  CHAPTER 13

  Kareem showered and shaved fuzz from his cheeks. His alarm clock read ten-fifteen, and he needed to go. He was an avid reader of Philadelphia Magazine, Robb Report, Architectural Digest, Ebony, Black Enterprise, and GQ. Those magazines guided him into manhood. They taught him how to treat himself, a woman, where to entertain a woman, how to dress to impress her, and how to live as if he were rich. Well, for his age, he was.

  He dressed in a mocha-colored Jean-Paul Gautier suit, cream Yoon of Italy dress shirt, and an off-white and chocolate Burberry tie. He complimented the earth-toned look with a Louis Vuitton icon print belt, loafers and wallet. He had a matching Louis Vuitton man purse, but he’d never wear it.

  At his computer, Kareem removed the regular ink cartridge from his laser printer and replaced it with MICR ink— magnetic ink that allowed store registers to read the numbers on the counterfeit checks that he was about to create. He opened the check program on his system and entered all the required information that would print on the fraudulent checks. He had used bank routing numbers stolen from checks that he purloined from Neiman’s customers. He substituted the legit account numbers with fake ones, with the same amount of numbers as the real ones. He did that to avoid any real customers from having trouble with their account. The checks printed out on sheets that contained three perforated checks. On each sheet the account number of each check advanced three digits to prevent the made-up account numbers from being flagged by check authorizations companies. He threw thirty checks into his wallet, along with a state-issued identification card that he paid a Penn DOT employee $200 for. With all of his bona fides in place, Kareem Bezel transformed into, one David Kritz.

  ***

  Dre heard Delores yell for him to pick up the phone and he snatched his cordless from the cradle.

  “What’s up, Dre?” Talibah asked him in a seductive tone.

  “Chillen, who dis?” he asked, cautiously, as if he had not known.

  “You don’t know my voice by now?”

  “Come on, don’t play games,” he responded sharply. He had to be sure that Tasha and Talibah were not trying to set him up. He’d kill them bitches.

  “Don’t be so mean. It’s Talibah,” she said, defensively, and then added, “What’s up, sexy?”

  “Me, sexy? No, you’re the sexy one.” He lied. She was a cute six, and he had Tasha the ten. “Why are you calling me?”

  “I saw that stare at the mall.”

  “What stare?”

  “You want to fuck me, Dre.”

  “Bitch, you high! I am married to your best friend.”

  “You two are hardly married. Married my ass. Speaking of ass, when you gon’ hit this one?”

  “You’re crazy.” Dre shook his head at how dirty Talibah was. There was no way that he would fuck her. His thought was interrupted by the other line. He checked the caller ID and mouthed, “Damn!”

  He clicked over, and Tasha said, “Come outside, Dre.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Kareem gazed into the blankness of the sky, as he drove to the bank. There was not a cloud in sight. That day was an artists’ rendering of a picture-perfect day.

  The car radio played 860 AM, Philadelphia’s business/ finance talk station. He tuned in just in time to hear Attorney General Alberto Gonzales inform citizens how identity thieves had savagely beaten the economy to the tune of 9.9 billion dollars. Gonzales went on, “Identity the
ft is so devastating in its effect because citizens failed to check their credit reports last year. This year, we are up to 500,000 reported cases of theft.”

  Before Mr. Gonzales relayed the tips to protect the listeners from identity theft, Kareem changed the station, as he spearheaded the need for the tips. Never carry your social security card in your wallet, or give the number to anyone, especially not via telephone. Only throw away shredded credit card invoices, bank statements, or cancelled checks into the trash. Credit cards and checks that had been lost or stolen should be reported to creditors and banks immediately. Check your credit report every ninety days. Blah, blah, blah.

  Kareem was tired of those irrelevant tips. He had methods to thwart all of the jazz. Had he possessed a stolen credit card, he called the creditor, before the victim and placed a password on the account. He also told the creditor to note that, he recently divorced and his wife threatened to have his cards cancelled, so they should be on the look-out for a male pretending to be him to call. He had harlots that worked in various places that had access to sensitive information. Alberto Gonzales would be amazed at what he traded his dick to women for.

  For one reason or another, Kareem was pissed at Alberto Gonzales and someone had to pay for her ignorance. He absolutely could not tolerate her bullshit.

  He grabbed his cell phone from the passenger seat and had Nextel connect him to the Hermes boutique in Honolulu, Hawaii. He informed the representative that he was Christopher Murdoch and...“I simply adored the Hermes sneakers advertised in the January 2003 GQ rag.”

  “Ah, yes, they’re nice, right?” the salesman asked. “They come in brown, tan, and black for $525 each.”

  “I’ll take all three colors in a size eight. I want to give them to my father as a gift. He’d jog in them and tear them up in a month.” Kareem chuckled at his embellishment. He loved to lie.

  “Mr. Murdoch, that’s fine, but the address that you’re shipping to must be the address on the credit card, or we must ship the sneakers to you and you can then forward them to dad. Is that okay?”

  “Absolutely!” Kareem then read Mr. Murdoch’s home address—315 Murrow Drive, Madison, Wisconsin—and Visa credit card number to the sales representative. The man placed him on hold to process the card, and Kareem hoped that the profile and credit card number was good. He had received it from his cousin Rhonda. She worked at the Nextel store in King of Prussia Mall, and her work was always good, but he was always careful. She privileged Kareem to mobile users that were approved for five lines or had an American Express on file for automatic monthly bill payment.

  Mr. Murdoch’s $1,575 purchase was approved and shipped via Fed-Ex. Kareem thanked the salesman and hung up the phone. With that complete, he made a mental check that task number one was accomplished, as he pulled into the Cedar Crest Savings and Loan Bank parking lot.

  CHAPTER 15

  Getting into her car, Dre was relieved that Talibah was not in it, also. It wasn’t a set-up, but rather something urgent. He guessed. Tasha stared at him as he sat next to her before hugging him tightly.

  She emoted, “Thank you, Dre. I really need you.”

  Dre hugged her tight, and asked her what was wrong. She managed to tell him that she needed for him to drive.

  “Whatever you want,” he told her, and exited the car.

  Tasha slid over to the passenger seat as Dre walked around the front of the car. He hopped into the driver’s seat and pulled off. He wanted to know what the problem was. It was not him cheating, or any rumor of him doing so. He turned the corner of his block, and they rode in silence. Their minds raced with thoughts of what was about to happen.

  Being the man, Dre broke the ice. “Tash, what’s the problem?” His tone was calm and would have coaxed Jaws.

  “It’s actually our problem, Dre.”

  “Our problem. Wouldn’t I know about our problems?” He asked curiously.

  “Trust me. Its our problem,” she told him directly.

  “Okay, Tasha. What’s our problem?” He asked becoming annoyed.

  “We’re pregnant!”

  The tires screamed and could be heard for miles. He pulled over, dazed by the devastating blow. We’re pregnant? Who? He thought. He choked and bluntly asked, “Who’s the father?”

  “Who’s the father! Are you out of your fucking mind, Dre?” She screamed.

  “Look! There’s no way I can be the father. For one, you’ve cheated on me. More important, I’m seventeen with a partial academic and sports scholarship pending to USC, I can’t be the father.”

  “We’re not going into that cheating shit again. Period! You’re the damn father. That cheating issue is dead and, he can’t be the father.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because, Dre, we used protection!” She had confessed it after denying having sex with someone else for so long.

  “You used what! Bitch, you fucking told me that you didn’t fuck him.” Now all of a sudden she was pregnant. Dre was young, but very street wise. She would not pull any stunts on him. Dre put the car in drive, made a U-turn, and headed back toward his house.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked weeping.

  “The fuck back to my crib.”

  “Dre, please,” she screamed, pulling his arm. He swerved in the traffic. “This is our baby. You can’t do this to me.” “Watch me.”

  “So, what are you going to just leave me?” she asked him, searching for love.

  “Tasha! Even if the baby is mine, I can’t do the baby thing. I have things to do in my immediate future.”

  “Andre, are you telling me to get an abortion, because, I’m not! I’ll have this baby with or without you.”

  “Then do it without!” he said and slammed the car door shut, after he hopped out.

  CHAPTER 16

  “How can I help you today?” Jim asked. His soft voice contradicted his calloused features.

  Kareem expressed his interest in an account that had no ATM usage fees, no minimum balance, and overdraft protection.

  “We have the perfect account for your needs,” the man said, but Kareem knew that. “The Express Checking account best suits your needs, mister, what did you say your name was?”

  I didn’t, but: “Its Kritz, David Kritz.” Kareem responded.

  “Mr. Kritz, this account is perfect because it allows you to write an unlimited number of checks per month, and unlimited free ATM usage. The downside to this account is that any in- bank transactions are subject to a $2.50 fee.”

  Kareem gave Jim his non-driver’s ID and credit card advance check for $5,000. The credit card advance check was stolen from the mailbox of Jared O’Brien. Sorry Jared, you probably waited for these checks.

  After entering all of the information into the system, Jim grabbed his telephone and called ChexSystems—a company banks conferred with to ensure that they did not open an account for someone who had misused an account at another bank. Naturally, David Kritz was given the green light.

  Off the phone, Jim opened his drawer and pulled out a starter checkbook and a Welcome Packet, for his new customer. He also had a plastic Visa check card. Jim walked over to a printer and retrieved a sheet of paper that Kareem signed. Afterward, Jim went to the teller’s area and made the initial deposit on the account. Back at his desk, Jim handed Kareem a yellow receipt and a $2,500 cash withdrawal.

  Kareem walked out the bank and contemplated the other moves that he had for David Kritz’s—well, his—account. He had nine other cash advance checks and by the time the fat lady sang—and, she would loudly—all of the checks would be deposited into the account and eventually withdrawn. He pulled from the parking lot, and tasted the $50,000 that he would get. He smiled at himself in the rearview mirror. His second job for the day was complete.

  CHAPTER 17

  Dre stretched out on his bed, glass of cherry juice in his hand, the stereo remote on his nightstand within arm reach. He knew his plans for the future were at risk of derailment, but he was c
alm nonetheless. He somehow enjoyed the sense of relaxation, taking time to analyze the events surrounding him, both past and future.

  Before moving to King of Prussia, he had had a good life and did not need the perfect-ness of residing in the suburbs. He had had an interesting and undoubtedly challenging transition.

  His vision of chasing “90210” babes on Rodeo Drive, while he attended USC, had been unbearably clouded. All he could see was a flood of diapers being changed, soaring day care costs, and astronomical toddler education expenses. Dre was horrified at the thought of being a father so young. He practically forbade Tasha from using the word baby within 500 miles of him. Wasn’t she on birth control? He wondered. Then asked: Why I didn’t take that matter in my own hands. I knew I should not have fucked her raw.

  He was confused, with no direction. Who the hell could he talk to? His mother would flip, if she knew about the breaking news developing under her roof.

  The telephone rang, and he thought it was Tasha, as he swung his feet to the floor and sat up ready for war. He contemplated answering the phone on the second ring, because he could not lose his queen over this.

  “Dre! Pick up the phone,” Delores yelled up the stairs.

  What am I going to say to this girl? What would I become if I became a father before my high school graduation? Why the fuck is this happening to me? “Hello.” He spoke cautiously into the receiver.

  “Dre?” His father was bemused at Dre’s subtle tone. “Boy, why do you sound all down?”

  How the hell did he pick that up? Am I that obvious? “I’m chill,” he said and paused. “What’s da deal, homey?”

  “Same old jail shit, but what’s good wit’ chu? I can hear it all in your voice.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Boy, I’ve known you for seventeen-years. Is your mother trippin’ on you or something?”

  “Always, but it’s not her.”

  “Oh, that chicken-head girlfriend of yours got you sprung, Dre?”