Get Some (6 page)

Trudy watched him closely from her bank teller's window. Lil Steve watched her too but never straight on. He was watching her reflection in the glass.

Just then, a short man in a beautiful tan suit rushed in through the front door. He had a black leather clutch wrapped tightly around his wrist, and his small tasseled shoes moved quickly across the floor. He worked his way through the fat burgundy rope and stood behind the last person in line. Ten minutes went by. The line moved slowly. A man at one of the windows didn't have the right ID.

Suddenly Ray Ray burst through the bank's glass front doors. Both Trudy and Lil Steve looked up, stunned. Ray Ray looked at Trudy and then at Lil Steve. He was tired of waiting outside in the sun. It was taking so long he thought something had happened. He walked slowly around the bank, not really knowing where to stand. He bolted to the bathroom in the back.

Trudy panicked. Vernita was in the bank's bathroom too. If he saw her the whole plan would be ruined.

Lil Steve glanced at Trudy. She was busy with a customer but she did look up briefly at Lil Steve. Her nervous eyes quickly shifted toward the tan-suit man. She pulled a ballpoint pen from behind her ear.

That was the signal. Lil Steve gathered his papers. But the tan-suit man still had five people in front of him. He tapped his small, impatient feet.

Lil Steve decided to sit down at the “new accounts” couch.

An elderly Filipino woman with thick glasses and salt-and-pepper hair sat in the chair behind a large paneled desk.

“Are you here for a new account, sir?” she asked, peering over her horn-rims.

“Sir!” Lil Steve sure liked that. Nobody had ever called him “sir” before. Lil Steve adjusted the tie under his collar.

“Why, yes. I'm looking for a new bank. I'm awfully tired of the people over at First Federal. They say they'll merge, you know, and I can just imagine the lines and impersonal service I'll receive there.”

Deceiving came easy to Lil Steve. Lies would just float out over his caramel-toned tongue. His mama said he was born with the gift.

He could lie on the spot without blinking an eye. Lie about anything at any given time, and could speak white in a heartbeat if need be. Learned it when his mama had him bused to school in Granada Hills to keep him away from the gangs. He got out of the gangs but not the criminal activity. The white talk just came in handy. Used to get jumped for it before he started getting smart and switching back and forth between 'hoods.

He remembered the time one of his teachers caught him gambling in the boys' bathroom. The room was full of smoke and foul-mouth yelling.

Lil Steve was oblivious to the teacher's presence in there. He was caught up in a lucky streak that had him holding a fistful of ones, and his pockets were bulging with coins.

“Fuck you, punk-ass muthafuckas. I'ma spank you and have yo' mama sucking my dick. Who tol' yo' ass to roll a double six, bitch? Y'all is some dumb lunchmeat punks.”

His teacher was shocked. Steven Williamson was one of his star pupils. “Come here, young man. Where'd you learn to talk like that?”

Lil Steve looked angry but quickly changed his face. He followed the teacher out into the hall. The teacher took him to the principal's office.

“Oh, Mr. Johnson?” he said, knocking lightly and then going in. “Could I have a moment? Go ahead, Steven, talk the way you were talking a moment ago. Listen to this, Frank. This is going to be great.” He knowingly nudged the principal's arm.

Lil Steve just sat in the wooden chair, staring.

“Go on, talk the way you were talking in the john. We just want to hear it.” His teacher was trying to stifle a laugh. He was fidgeting away in his seat.

“I really don't know what you mean,” Lil Steve said, keeping his eyes at the ceiling.

“Come on. Do some of that ‘brother-man' stuff.” Mr. Lawson nudged the principal again. “Watch this, Frank. Oh, come on,” he said more excitedly now. “Talk that nigger talk you were doing in the bathroom again, boy.”

A rush of heat flushed over Lil Steve's face. Like someone held an iron too close to his cheek. He was glad he wasn't no punk white boy neither, so none of them dumb fools could see.

Lil Steve rushed past them both and walked out the door and down the hall. He walked through the thick wooden doors to the street and went straight to the bus stop and sat on the bench.

It was not until the afternoon breeze of the valley hit his face that he finally breathed deeply again. Lil Steve never went back to school. Oh, he left every morning at the same exact time. He got dressed, got his books and things, but he'd double back and kick it with all the hustlers and gangsters who'd stopped going to school long ago.

 

 

“Excuse me, sir,” the Filipino lady said to Lil Steve. “May I please see your ID?”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Lil Steve said, reaching for his wallet and pulling out his ID and matching fake credit cards.

“Will this be a joint account?”

“Oh, no,” Lil Steve shot back. “I've never had joint partners. I remember Father's friend Phillip split up his business.” He looked away a moment, just for effect. “You can't drive a car with four arms.”

Lil Steve set the stage and let his marks fill the rest. He watched Ray Ray out of the corner of his eye. He was standing at the thin table, by the long teller line, dangling the bank pen from its long metal chain.

Lil Steve took a leather billfold from his upper breast pocket, carefully removed the elegant Cross pen and began filling out the form the Filipino woman gave him.

Trudy kept her head down. She couldn't look at Ray Ray. She really felt bad he was there.

Ray Ray stayed at the table for a minute and looked over at Lil Steve, who was filing his nails while the woman typed his name on a blue vinyl book.

The tan-suit man was nearing the front of the line. He repeatedly tapped his small foot.

Lil Steve noticed Ray Ray and turned his back on him. He gave the new-accounts lady his full attention.

The Filipino woman slowly rolled the bankbook out of her printer.

“All right, Mr. Jones, you're all set. How much would you like to deposit today?”

Today? Damn it,
Lil Steve thought. He had forgotten he needed to put money into the account. He looked down into his wallet at two crumpled fives.

“Well, how much do I need?” He saw Ray Ray raise his eyebrows at him. He wanted Lil Steve to come on.

The tan-suit man was now at Trudy's window. In a moment he would be leaving the bank and gone.

“The minimum is fifty dollars, sir.”

Lil Steve fumbled around with his wallet. He tried not to panic but the time was ticking away. Trudy was already counting the huge stack of cash. He glanced at Ray Ray, who was mad-dogging him big time now, his face all scowled up and mean.

Fuck!
Lil Steve thought. This was not supposed to happen. He wouldn't even be dealing with this shit if Vernita had given him some money. Lil Steve felt the wet drip down the length of his back. Ray Ray scowled at him again and Lil Steve glanced at the door. The C-note was the very last of Lil Steve's money. Reluctantly he leaned over and peeled it from his sock.

“One moment,” the Filipino woman said, getting up.

Lil Steve was sweating now.
Hurry up, bitch
. If they didn't move soon it would be too late.

Ray Ray walked away from the table and stood near the wall, pretending to read the brochures in the stand.

The tan-suit man was still at the window.

Lil Steve leaned forward, anxious. Sweat was beading around his brow. “Where'd that damn bank 'ho go?” The tan-suit man was getting ready to leave.

The Filipino lady finally came back. She handed Lil Steve the small slender passbook. She reached out her hand for Lil Steve to shake.

“Thank you very much, sir. I hope you'll enjoy banking with B of A.”

“I'm sure I will,” Lil Steve said, feeling more confident now. “Especially if all the people working here are as beautiful and pleasant as you.” He was handsome in that black Armani suit. His height and goatee made him look distinguished. He could charm women right out of their clothes.

The woman smiled, revealing a wide row of teeth surrounded in gold.

Ray Ray collected his papers and left. He walked briskly across the street and jumped into the Lincoln. Lil Steve let go of the Filipino woman's hand. Flashing everyone in his path his Cherry Coke smile, he walked casually out the front door. All they had to do now was wait for the tan-suit man to come out. Lil Steve brushed his sleeve and strolled to the car. It felt good standing there in the Beverly Hills sun. Even the parked cars sparkled like gold.

C
harles was waiting in a midget white mail carrier's truck. It was parked right in front of the bank. As soon as he saw Ray Ray and Lil Steve leave, he walked quickly inside. He was wearing his blue and gray postal uniform with a giant canvas sack strapped to his back. Charles wore a hat and dark tinted glasses. A fake beard covered his face. He walked straight to the back to a water cooler in the corner. No one even looked up. Charles knew that see-through feeling well. Uniforms were always equated with the help. He was the worker, the last rung of a ladder, as noteworthy as the fake ficus tree in the lobby.

Charles studied the room under his dark tinted shades. He poured a small cup of water. He tried to act cool. He took a huge gulp and crumpled the paper cup. He took deep breaths to clear his head.

The tan-suit man watched Trudy's hands. She was busy counting bundles of money. A strap was a fat roll of money in hundreds, but a bundle equaled ten straps. Trudy counted out five hundred Saran Wrapped bundles, exactly one-hundred-thousand dollars. A blue vinyl satchel rested on her desk. Trudy took short breaths through her nose as she slowly counted the money.

Don't panic. Stay calm
, Trudy scolded herself. She could feel the rushing drum of her maniac heart.
Breathe deep! Take it easy. Don't panic now.
Trudy could feel the attack trying to close up her throat. She stopped and fanned herself with a bank teller slip. She wished she could go get some water.

Suddenly, Vernita whisked toward the other teller's window. She'd been hiding in the bathroom the whole time. She was wearing a light linen suit with a dangerously low-cut halter and six-inch black patent leather stilettos. The blond wig hung way down past her shoulders. It swung across her back as she walked. The contrasting dark sunglasses made her look like a star. The men in the bank began to stare.

Vernita went to the other teller's window. She held an old check in her hand.

“May I help you?” the bank teller asked Vernita when it was finally her turn.

Vernita pushed the check and her ID under the glass. “Cash this for me, please,” Vernita said coolly. She took out a compact and began dabbing her lipstick. She looked whiter than a coconut pie.

The teller smiled at Vernita. She opened the cash drawer. But suddenly she stopped and held the check in her hand. “I'm sorry, but I can't take this. It's not made out to you.”

“Just cash it, honey,” Vernita said, avoiding the teller's eyes. She was watching the bank in the mirror of her compact. “Go on, I'm sure it'll be fine.” Vernita watched the tan-suit man at Trudy's window. He was waiting for Trudy to finishing dealing his bills.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but we can't,” the teller mildly told her.

“Well, for heaven's sake. Who's in charge here?” Vernita demanded.

Trudy looked up and stopped counting the man's money.

“Now, really, I've been a customer too long at this branch to settle for this kind of crap!” Vernita put one hand on her hip. The blond wig shook with her loose, bobbing neck.

Charles stayed quiet. He crushed another water cup in his hand.

“Ma'am, we can't cash a check made out to another person.” The teller talked to her low. She wanted to calm her back down.

“The hell you can't. I've been doing it for over ten years!”

The tan-suit man glanced in Vernita's direction and then motioned for Trudy to finish.

Damn it!
Trudy thought. How were they going to make the switch if the tan-suit man's eyes never left Trudy's wrists? Her breathing became labored. It sounded much more staccato. She hoped the tan-suit man didn't notice.

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” the teller told Vernita. “We don't honor endorsed-over checks anymore. There's nothing more I can do.”

“You are sorry. Now go get the manager, please.” Vernita glanced at her wrist. She wore a fake Cartier watch. “I really don't have time for this shit.” Vernita rapped her acrylics against the hard marble counter. “Really, it's only nine hundred and eighty bucks!” Vernita slammed her purse so hard on the counter that a stack of brochures floated down to the floor.

Trudy finished counting the money and zipped it inside the bank's blue satchel. She was logging the money on her bank teller ledger. All she had to do was print the receipt.

The manager came over to the other teller's window. His horn-rims stared at Vernita's platinum head. He'd been playing Korean video games at his desk. He hoped this white snob didn't take long.

“We don't cash second-party checks anymore. Please, ma'am, calm down. There's no need for drama.”

“Drama?” Vernita scowled. “Shit, this isn't dramatic. Dramatic is if I decide to leap over this counter and go upside your lopsided head.” Vernita popped her gum in the manager's face.

The manager motioned for security to come over.

No!
Trudy thought.
This is not good!
The guard moved away from the bank's large front door and now stood right next to her window.

“What? Am I supposed to be scared?” Vernita raised her eyes over her sunglasses.

But the security guard aggressively grabbed hold of her arm.

“What are you doing, you rent-a-cop punk?” Vernita struggled wildly to tear herself free. Her platinum wig shook like a big Christmas tree you struggled to get out of the house.

The tan-suit man glanced in Vernita's direction. But he looked back too quickly for Trudy to make the switch. He was anxious. He rapidly tapped with his foot. He wanted Trudy to hurry up so he could get out.

“Let go of me, fool. Leave me alone.” Vernita was losing the fight with the guard. He was moving her toward the front door.

No!
Trudy thought. She needed Vernita. Trudy was so outdone she could barely breathe now. She watched the security guard yank Vernita toward the front door.

Trudy printed the receipt for the tan-suit man and zipped it up in the blue vinyl bag with the money. There was nothing left to do but slide him the bag of money. Trudy hesitated but the tan-suit man looked so annoyed she knew she couldn't wait anymore.

“Let go of me, punk, I know Johnnie Cochran. Y'all done fucked with the wrong bitch this time!”

Trudy's eyes shot to Vernita. What the hell was she doing? She was talking way too ghetto for someone passing as white. The plan was for Vernita to create a mild diversion so Trudy could make the quick switch.

But it was too late. Vernita was captured. The guard firmly ushered Vernita toward the door.

“Excuse me,” the tan-suit man said to Trudy. “Really, I don't have all day.” Trudy had to give him the bag with the money.

Damn it!
Trudy thought. The plan was all ruined. She handed him the blue vinyl bag.

But somehow Vernita managed to escape. She ran straight toward the tan-suit man's line, colliding right into his back. Vernita and the man stumbled down toward the floor.

It was Charles's turn now. He was waiting for this moment. He'd been moving closer and closer to Trudy's teller window. “Mail ready, ma'am?” Charles asked her fast.

Trudy handed him a stack without looking up. She'd slipped the blue bag inside the thick mail pile and handed it quickly to Charles.

Charles gave Trudy a mail stack too with an identical blue vinyl bank bag tucked inside. This bank bag was the same exact size and weight. Nobody in the bank even noticed the switch. In less than a minute Charles was back at his truck.

The manager helped the tan-suit man to his feet. The guard hustled Vernita out of the door. The tan-suit man was visibly upset. He smoothed down his suit and straightened his tie. He snatched the blue vinyl bag from Trudy's window and briskly walked out the front door.