Keyshia and Clyde (10 page)

Clyde was elated and hugged Keyshia, who was still in a zone, and he said, “Oh, shit, my baby look like Rambo in this piece! Yo, you ain't no fuckin' joke!” Keyshia, equally excited, hugged him for joy. They kissed and Clyde said, “Yo, let's start cleaning this place up to get ready for tomorrow.” He began picking up each and every round, talking all the while.

“I ain't got no doubts now, we gonna handle our business, naa mean, baby?”

When Keyshia didn't answer, he turned and looked at her. She had unbuttoned her shirt, and her firm breasts and nipples were hardened. Clyde paused as he stood up with an instant erection. Keyshia walked over to him and said in a husky voice, “Make love to me, boy!”

Chapter 16
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The sun was just going down when Keyshia and Clyde got home.

“Keyshia,” Clyde said while he was packing the weapons, “do you love me?”

The question was so out of the blue that she frowned. “Yeah, Clyde, you know I do,” she answered.

Clyde paused as he searched for the right words to say. “Well, I love you, too.” He looked toward the far wall as if he were straining for the right words.

Keyshia began to grow worried. She walked over to him and grabbed his hand and said, “What's wrong, baby? Tell me.”

Clyde looked deep into her eyes. “I . . . I just can't let you go through this with me . . . I just can't.” Keyshia saw the seriousness and dread in his eyes.

“I just don't know what I would do if you get hurt, I just can't.”

Keyshia put her head down. She'd known this moment would come.

“I never felt like this about another person, never knew this feeling existed. But I do now. If you love something that much, how could you ever put it in harm's way?” Keyshia searched his pleading eyes.

“I can do this shit by myself, yo, and afterwards we could get out of Harlem and live together somewhere where there's no drama, and be suckers and get jobs.” He stood and continued, “We . . . we could travel down south and visit your family, who you ain't see in years. We can leave all this shit behind, make some change in our life for the better.” Clyde began smiling as he imagined that it could all really come true. “We could one day find out what we are meant to be, like you always say.

“So what do you say, Keysh? I can do this shit solo, ma!”

She looked down and began rubbing his strong hands and said softly, “Boy, looka here, I's love ya and I's loves ya bad. All my life I been by myself and alone because nobody care much fo' me. My whole life they calls me ugly and calls me dumb 'cause I don't know much. They tells me I was a bald-headed, skinny, big-lip, big-nose, black bitch. They tells me I's was trash 'cause I was tampered with as a child and that nobody ain't gonna want me. My mammy gives me up and leave me to my aunt, who slapped me 'round so much I couldn't do nothin' but to accept it. After whiles, after so many beatin's and all the name callin', you can't help but feel like shit inside. Then being forced on so many times by grown men and boys and ta be blame for it, does sumtin' ta ya mind, to ya soul. I guess I's didn't want to feel no more so I get to the point I don't care no more 'bout me or my body. I use to travel 'round them department stores imagining I was somebody special, somebody important, like them white folks I use to see with they family, doing and buying what they want. Then I met you however that ways we did in a motel room between a man legs. Even though you saw me hows you did and smokin' them crack, you tells me I's was better than them drugs and you still look after me and never treat me like no ho. Then you up and tells me I's was beautiful.”

Keyshia paused as she shook her head and thought back to that moment. “Me . . . you call beautiful.” She looked at Clyde seriously and asked, “Did you know that was the first time I was ever called beautiful by somebody? Did you know how that made me feel? But you know what, that ain't even the sad part, the sad part is I's believed them when they told me I was ugly and wouldn't amount to nothin'. But when you told me I's was beautiful that day, and treat me like you do, and mean it, I looked at yo' face and looked in yo' eyes and I knew you was telling the truth! I's fell for you right then and there and knew I ain't never want to be with nobody but you fo' the rest of my life. I ain't got nothing going fo' me but you, and I ain't lettin' you go nowhere, boy. Now, I's done tells you once before and look into my eyes when I say this: If things gotta go down, we gon' go down together, that's fo' sho'. Now I's know you love me back the same and you can try to explain all you want after what I say, but remember this, and never forget, if I can't have you by my side, it ain't gon' be worth living, so either I's with you or I'm ready to die for you, boy!”

Clyde stared at her, expressionless, until he finally said, “Yeah, now for what you were meant to do with your life.” Keyshia stared at him, perplexed.

“A lawyer.”

Keyshia smiled and said, “You think so?”

Clyde nodded. “Hell, yeah, you convinced me. Every time I try to say no to you for something, you convince me otherwise. Think about it—the first time we met at Marshall's, you convinced three grown-ass men I wasn't stealing and caught red-handed with the shit hanging out my pants. The way you got them people in Macy's to respect you by knowing the right words to say. And don't forget the way you convinced me to give you half the loot on the robbery—half the take! That's the same thing them big-time lawyers do because they know the right thing to say and when to say it. I heard somewhere that the best lawyers are ten percent actors and ninety percent liars.”

Keyshia frowned and threw a piece of tissue at him. “You saying I'm a liar?”

“What I'm saying is that you could convince the devil himself that he made a mistake of bringing you to hell if you wanted to. Shit, I would want you as my lawyer if I ever was in a fucked-up position anytime, that's fo' sho'!”

For the entire evening they spent their time plotting and scheming. Clyde taught her everything in regards to robbery, including where she should be positioned, what to look for during an actual robbery, and the three kinds of victims that can be a potential threat to a perfect jump-off. The first is the hero. Clyde warned her that in every bunch there is always one potential hero who can turn a simple robbery into a nightmare and that you have to make an example of these. For whatever reason, human nature tells one of these knuckleheads that they are duty bound to be a crusader and that they can really match the quickness of a loaded weapon. But, as many find out, right after they secure a hot searing bullet in their flesh, or hear the sound of the cracking of their jawbone when a weapon hits their faces, they are not comic book superheroes. These types you have to be able to spot immediately because you don't want to catch a body on a simple robbery. They are the ones who are constantly looking around with their head and their eyes, searching for a weak spot in their assaulter.

The second possible liability are what Clyde called the crabs, who feel that their jewelry is too precious to part with. Clyde heard everything from “I can't give you this, man, my momma gave me this before she die,” to, “You might as well shoot me now, 'cause I worked too hard for this shit!”

Then there were the last, and possibly the worst: the sleepers. These are the ones who flop and fall out in fear from the robbery. They were easy to spot because they did their best Fred Sanford act feigning a heart attack before falling out, faking they were asleep or unconscious.

Clyde taught Keyshia that when she spotted these kinds to take them out hard and take them out quick. He told her to hit them hard on the bridge of their nose because that would cause them excruciating pain, making them forget all about being a hero, crab, or sleeper instantly.

Time is of the essence in any robbery. You want to be in and out in a matter of minutes, never giving the victims time to think. Never be greedy, take what's obvious—rings, necklaces, wallets, purses, watches, bracelets, and money clips. Anything above that is too time-consuming and you risk losing everything because of greed!

Put Vaseline around your eyes. It can make you look lighter or darker, depending on the lighting in the area of the stickup. It also makes you look sadistic, which helps out the robbery tremendously.

Always have a plan B. In robberies always expect the unexpected. Nothing happens the way you plan, so you have to be flexible.

The more noise the better. When you enter your robbery scene, cursing, yelling, and making threats will make it seem like twenty deranged psychokillers have invaded their space, scaring them half to death.

On the getaway, be as calm and poised as possible. Many thieves are caught directly after the robbery because they panic. Ninety percent of police never even have a description of the perpetrators, only the area in which it happened. What they look for is unusual behavior or body language, which can be dead giveaways.

Clyde decided that they would go out that night to give Keyshia a test run, something small.

“Keyshia,” he said with a devious smile, “get dressed in your baddest outfit, we going downtown to get something to eat.”

Chapter 17
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Keyshia and Clyde sat in the upscale eatery on 40th Street in downtown Manhattan, feasting on New York strip steaks and having a ball. The eatery, Milo's, was a popular restaurant for many celebrities and athletes. Milo's was known for its pricey menu, but the food was good and the service impeccable.

Two couples in the far corner were enjoying themselves. They were having such a good time that they never even noticed the two pairs of eyes watching them. The two women looked like video bimbos and laughed at their suitors' jokes every five seconds. The men wore oversize diamond-laced jewelry like they were rappers in the making. It was obvious that the women would be their dates' desserts shortly.

The women excused themselves from the table and told their dates they were going to the ladies' room. The men stood up and let them exit the table first and then headed to the restroom right behind them.

Inside the men's room, their spirits were racing. “Yo, you see shorty's lips?” one said as he unzipped his pants and used the urinal. “She look like she could slob a nigga's knob something lovely by the size of them shits.”

His man agreed as he checked himself out in the mirror. “Fuck that, you see the size of my shorty's ass? You know I gonna try my best to get all this dick up inside that shit.”

His partner grinned and said, “Knock the dook shoot out of her, huh, man?”

“You damn skippy! Bang! Bang! Bang!” he responded, unable to contain himself. Suddenly, the masked Keyshia and Clyde burst out of the stalls and pointed their weapons at them.

“What the fuck?” shouted one man as he tried to zip up his pants. Keyshia immediately played her position by the door and locked it, concentrating on one of the men as Clyde attended to the other.

“Say another word and I'm blowing your motherfuckin' brains out, nigga!” They were instantly neutralized. “Now run them jewelry and your wallets!”

Both men complied quickly and willingly. Keyshia pulled out a bag and they dropped everything inside. Without a word, both Keyshia and Clyde raised their weapons and put them in their faces and said, “Strip!” While they were coming out of their clothes, Clyde recognized them and said, “Yo, I know you two. Y'all play for the fucking Knicks, don't you?” Still nervous, both men nodded. Clyde suddenly flipped out.

“I should shoot y'all niggas right now. I hate the Knicks!”

Both men began to plead. “Man, it's the coach, man, I don't even like him,” said one man.

“Yeah!” said the other. “And the GM. We ain't got nothing to do with the plays, we don't even like 'em.”

Clyde suddenly laughed and said, “Na, I'm just playing! I'm just playing! Now go inside the stall and count to one hundred when I tell you.” He motioned to Keyshia to take off her mask and leave quietly. The he took off his mask and said loudly enough for them to hear, “Now, make sure these niggas count to a hundred, and when they get to sixty, you can leave.” Clyde yelled to the men, “Y'all clothes will be on the sink if y'all be good. Now start counting.”

“One, two, three, four . . .” counted the men. By the time they got to six, Keyshia and Clyde were already out the restaurant door and around the corner.

Keyshia and Clyde were in predator mode and were currently staked out across the street in a popular after-hours spot uptown called Bell's. Cats from all over Harlem, mainly dealers and hardworking city employees who wanted to relive their “player, player” days, stopped by and posted outside with their fly rides and kicked it with the many honeys who were also looking to have a good time. Keyshia was the first one to spot their target. He was standing in front of his forest green Range Rover with the twenty-three-inch chrome rims and DVD monitors in the back of the driver's and front passenger's headrest, playing a movie, though no one was in the backseat. He was on his cell phone, and each time a group of girls passed by, he hollered at them without fail. He was begging to get stuck, so Keyshia and Clyde set out to accommodate him.

Keyshia wore her tightest black jeans with a matching blouse and high-heeled, knee-high boots. With the five-inch heels, she stood a towering six feet one as she walked stealthily toward their potential victim. As she got closer, she sized him up quickly. He was handsome, in his late twenties, and wore a modest amount of jewelry, including a twenty-four-inch gold necklace and matching cross and two gold rings on both hands. He was kicking it on a Sidekick 3. The man was a pure dog, 'cause he would try to talk to one girl and when she didn't give him any rhythm, he would quickly try to kick it to her homegirl.

When he spotted Keyshia, he froze and eased up off his SUV and said, “Oh, shit!” He quickly told the person he was talking to on the phone, “Yo, nigga, I holla at you later. I got to catch up with this shorty.” He ended the call and stepped straight to up Keyshia. “Yo, ma, can I ask you something?” Keyshia played as if she didn't hear him and kept walking past him. The man wasn't letting her get off that easy, however. Her body was too tight to let her go without pitching his A-game at her.

“Yo, ma, slow down. You dropped something.” Now a good distance away from his Range Rover, Keyshia decided to play into his little farce and looked around on the ground. “What did I drop?”

He ran up to her and said smoothly, “You would've dropped an opportunity of a lifetime if you don't stop and let a nigga holla at you for a minute.” He smiled and extended his hand. “My name is T, and I'm feeling you, ma, just that simple.”

Keyshia stared at him through her white Chanel glasses and decided to act coy. “Well, T, my name is Kashaun, not K. Do you mind telling me what your mother named you?”

He realized he'd underestimated this young'un and switched gears. “Oh, my bad, forgive me for my impertinence, Kashuan. My name is Terrence and you got me kinda twisted for the moment, but if you give me a second, I can come out of this daze you got me in.”

Keyshia smiled and wondered how many girls had fallen for his bullshit in the past. He continued talking as Keyshia looked over his shoulder and watched Clyde make his way across the street and toward his SUV.

“But what I really want to know is if you want to come with me somewhere, maybe get something to eat or some drinks?” He turned and pointed to his ride. “That's my Range Rover right there,” he said proudly. “That's to let you know you ain't wasting your time with a broke nigga.”

Keyshia cracked a light smile and said, “I hope not.” She followed him to his SUV, and he opened the passenger-side door for her. He nearly tripped over himself running to the driver's side, thinking all the while how he amazed himself with his wit and game on these young bitches.

He hopped in, oblivious to the unwelcome guest who lay in the backseat. He looked at Keyshia and thought how he should just take her to a motel and wax that ass instead of wasting time and money on her dumb ass when he already knew she was out trickin' so she could get some money to pay for her cell phone or something. He pulled off and turned down the loud music and said, “Yo, ma, let's talk real talk.” Keyshia nodded as he continued, “Why play games when we know what this is all about? I'd be a fool to insult your intelligence like that.”

Keyshia smiled and said, “I could respect that, keep talking.”

“You young and fine as a motherfucker, and I want some. What a nigga got to do to feel them insides?”

Without blinking an eye, Keyshia said, “Two hundred dollars.”

“Goddamn!” T said. “You ain't bullshittin', but why so expensive? I just want to hit them guts and be out. Shit, the hotel is gonna be another hundred.”

Keyshia gestured toward the back. “Shit, let's just handle business in the backseat; it look big enough. It would save you from paying for a hotel.”

T smiled, 'cause he would never have thought a young fine girl like her would want to get smashed outside. Shit, he figured, by the time he would have wined and dined her, he would have dropped two bills anyway and still wouldn't be sure if he was getting the pussy. This way he'd be coming out much cheaper and was sure of getting the ass.

“All right, that's a bet. We can go to Morningside Park or sumptin', and handle our business like that.” Keyshia nodded.

When they pulled up on Morningside, he parked his SUV between 119th and 120th streets where it was always deserted at that time of night.

“All right, so what's up?” T said.

“The money, nigga,” Keyshia said sarcastically. He reached in a stash compartment in the vehicle, pulled out a wad of dough, and peeled off four fifty-dollar bills and handed them to her. Keyshia slowly put the money in her purse and then folded her arms and stared through the front window.

T was baffled. “Okay, what did I do?”

Keyshia continued to stare out the window and said, “You forgot to pay my man.”

T shook his head, thinking he hadn't heard her correctly.

“What you say?”

Keyshia turned and looked him straight in the eye and said slowly and steadily, “I said, you forgot to pay my man!”

Suddenly, Clyde rose from the backseat and put the gun right under his nose. He looked at Keyshia, who had her weapon drawn and was smiling wickedly.

After they stripped T down to his underwear, Clyde got out of the backseat and pulled him out like a rag doll and hopped in the driver's seat and drove off, dropping his shoes, shirt, and pants out the window along the way, leaving him to pick up each behind them.

They pulled off several small stickups over the course of the evening, and after they made it from the chop shop and Clyde's jewelry connect to convert the jewelry into cash, they made it home by cab by four in the morning. After they counted that night's take, they had made a little over twenty thousand dollars. Not bad for six hours of work.

Though they were happy, they knew they still had a ways to go to come up with another hundred and thirty thousand. Clyde knew that was just a test run to get each other in sync, to know each other's instincts, each movement. They also knew that they had to step up their game to where the money was really at—drug spots—where it would become more dangerous.