CON TEST: Double Life

  One of them wrapped her arm around the other and pulled her close. She said, “I love me some chocolate.” They both laughed.

  He stuck the room key into the door, and said, “So does my wife,” with a devilish smile on his face.

  “I bet she can’t do this,” the woman with the immense ass said, and then bent over. She then wrapped her hands around her ankles and forced her ass muscles to vibrate. The fatty tissue shook violently. Her ass cheeks applauded him. To further show off, the woman squatted and her ass continued to pulsate.

  William tugged at his erection, and stared at her as he went wild inside. What if Lundin calls? How guilty will I be, he thought.

  “If it’s like that then come and show me what I am missing,” he said, and groped himself.

  “You ain’t saying anything, but a word,” one of the girls said, and handed her girlfriend her purse. “Meet me in the room girl.”

  “Naw, she invited, too,” William said, and raised an eyebrow.

  “Looks like there is enough to go around.”

  “More than you know,” William said and smiled, before he whipped his manhood out.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  One hour had passed before William had washed the scent of good, non-committal sex off him. The sad part was that he did not feel an ounce of regret for what he had done. He was a firm believer of what you did not know could not possibly hurt.

  He ordered room service to delay his previous order for two hours, so that he could handle Monica and Keisha sans interruption. He was mesmerized by what he had done with them that he decided to re-live the salacious episode in his fictional manuscript. He had felt a great joy in being able to write from experience. That was what made his stories so authentic.

  He had committed adultery, washed the sin down a hotel drain, and would repent. That would be the end of that. With a fresh batch of ideas ready to be unleashed from his brain, he sat at the hotel desk and began to type:

  “Where the hell have you been at?” Alimu-Shine asked biting into a croissant.

  “I know that the early bird gets the worm,” Justice replied, smiling.

  “So?” Amir asked.

  “Let’s just say that while you were sleeping, I got $8,000 worms,” he confessed. “Keep sleeping and you will make as many as me,” he continued sarcastically.

  “Oh, is dat right? Break down, nigga,” Alimu-Shine said, sipping his chocolate milk.

  “You know the rules,” Amir said.

  “Do I? Let’s say for the sake of arguing that I do. Rules are designed specifically to be broken. How about I break that one?”

  “So, you are going to keep all of the loot? Simple as that?”

  “Bottom line, gentleman, I have to eat as much as I can in order to go on the run effectively. I cannot keep stunting and risk getting locked up on some dumb shit.”

  “Okay, you can get a pass considering you took the purse and went to the bank all alone to handle business,” Alimu-Shine told him.

  “Gee, thanks!” Justice raved, in disbelief. “I am glad that you were able to rationalize why I could keep my money.”

  “Don’t be a little bitch, J,” Alimu-Shine replied.

  Justice became instantaneously furious, bypassing upset and angry. He stepped across the hotel room and stood over Alimu-Shine, who immediately stood to meet the man’s eye.

  “How many legs do bitches have?” Justice asked stonily.

  “Four!”

  “I only have two,” Justice said and stared coldly at Alimu-Shine. He had a red dot on his head. “And next time you gon’ shit out ya teeth.”

  “And how the fuck do you think you gon’ do that, clown?” Alimu-Shine asked with a sinister smirk on his face that would have aggravated Satan.

  Amir stepped between the two characters and pressed them apart. His hands flat on both of their chests, he could feel hearts pulsating. He told Alimu-Shine, “Basically, he is claiming to knock your teeth down your throat. You’ll digest them, then…”

  “Amir, chill. I ain’t playing,” Alimu-Shine said. He then looked deeply into Justice’s eyes and said, “I’m tired of this bitch talking to me like I am his fucking kid. Like he run shit all of the damn time. He ain’t a fucking boss. Fuck him!”

  “Fuck you, pussy!” Justice said, and pushed Alimu-Shine out of his face.

  Looking out for every one’s interest, Amir jumped in between the two. “Look, this is a stolen hotel room, which I will go to jail for. Justice you already know your deal. And, Alimu-Shine you’re on federal supervised release and being in New York is undoubtedly a violation that will send you back to Fort Dix fast as a mutha-fucka.” He let that sink in and then continued. “Calm dis bullshit down. There are no dummies in here, and you two know better. I opened three accounts over the phone at Chemical Bank.” He raced over to the desk and then strode back and handed them both pieces of paper. On each paper was a name, address, and two account numbers—one savings and one checking.

  Amir told them, “Not only are the accounts open, I have had all three men approved for personal loans of $8,000. The loan contracts have been faxed to three different hotels. Look on the papers that I have handed you to see which hotel you need to pick up your faxes. You also have reservations at the hotels. Of course, they are paid for fraudulently through hotels.com.” He paused and handed the men checks that he made bearing the names of the men he had opened the accounts under. “Here are your hotel deposit checks and front desk cash advance checks. Upon getting your IDs, check into your hotel, fax the documents back and then we will meet at the Marriott Marquis at 42nd and Broadway. I’ll need $75 from each man from the Discover stunt last night to pay for the room. No need to be in a stolen room since we are about to come all the way up, risking everything that I planned.”

  Both Alimu-Shine and Justice gained control of themselves. They could not believe that the plot they had heard was developed by Amir. Never before had such an eloquent plan spilled out of his mouth. They both looked down at the papers flabbergasted that Amir had selected the best New York hotels for them to get their loan documents. He had also selected men who obviously had A-1 credit. He handed them their assignments with a cunning smirk on his face. Ta Da! Amir had just proven that he wanted out of the third echelon and wanted to be in a space at the forefront of the criminal enterprise.

  “One question,” Justice said, hesitantly. “Where’d you get that credit card number to secure the rooms?”

  “Ah!” Amir said, serenely. “The early bird gets the worm. Those were your words, right? I was up at the crack of dawn stealing other hotel guests’ room receipts that were sticking out the bottom of their hotel room doors. There’s plenty more where those three came from. They’ve all been recorded and the papers should be floating in the Hudson River by now with dead bodies.” He said all that and disappeared in the bathroom.

  Justice and Alimu-Shine heard shower water running and Amir singing in the rain. They could not fathom what had gotten into the green horn. They both teetered on the edge of shamelessness. Their fury at each other had passed, and antsy had arrived.

  “Chop, chop,” Alimu-Shine said. “We have work to do.”

  Amir reappeared from the bathroom all spruced up. He dressed, slipped his pad of details into his pocket, while he hummed the Mission Impossible original score. He felt like a drug dealer. He had given Alimu-Shine and Justice a taste, and they were hooked. He knew that his cronies played the game as expertly and exceptional as Lance Armstrong. He had some catching up to do. How grandiose it would be to get his hands on the coinage.

  # # #

  Alimu-Shine was never the one to flirt with going overboard. After he had his phony ID, he went to the Double Tree Suites Hotel on Broadway. He rode the elevator to the second floor lobby. There was no one standing in line waiting on a front deskman. He approached the check-in counter, in front of an Irish woman.

  “May I help you, sir?” she asked, never looking up from her computer.

  “Ye
s, you can,” Alimu-Shine said, smiling.

  She looked up and could not get over—or, around for that matter—Alimu-Shine Ridley’s handsomeness. He was smiling at her and flashed white teeth and small circular holes formed dimples on the side of his face. His perfect ocher hue mesmerized her. She wanted to take out his braids and run her fingers through his hair.

  “I have a reservation. Donald Kazanski is the name its under.”

  “Donald, who?” she replied, quite playfully.

  “K-A-Z-A-N-S-K-I.”

  She tapped, tapped her keyboard and then looked back up from her monitor. She looked lovingly into his golden eyes. Women lusted over his eyes just as much as they did Justice’s, often calling them the “Pretty Eye Twins.” He imagined her thinking the same thing. “We have you here for three nights in a suite, king size, non-smoking. I just need a credit card and ID.”

  He reached in his wallet and retrieved what she had requested. He played around with the three one-dollar bills that he had in there before he put the wallet back into his breast pocket. “Here’s my ID. I was told that the room was secured via Internet payment.”

  “Well, it was. The credit card is to cover incidentals,” she told him evenly, and then stacked on top of that, she asked, “Where’d you get a name like Kazanski. Sorry for being intrusive, but my inquiring mind wants to know.”

  “Kazanski is Polish. My parents adopted me and were refugees from Poland. To thank them I lost my government last name in college, and took theirs.” He let that sink in before he got back to the topic of the ID. “I did not bring my credit cards. You know how sinful 5th Avenue can be,” he said and reached into his blazer. “I have my checkbook, though,” he said with a smile. Bling!

  “Great. You can make the check out to the Double Tree for $300. It’s $100 per night,” she said typing his ID information into the system. She then told him, “By the way that was very thoughtful of you to change your last name.”

  “I am a thoughtful guy,” he said with a shadow of lust.

  “How many keys?”

  “One. It’s just me up there all alone.”

  She handed him a receipt and a room key. She also offered him a good day.

  Before he walked off, he asked, “Is there a fax here for me?”

  “Let me check the back for you.”

  She disappeared and returned with a folder. “There was a lot of papers, and I placed them in this folder for you.”

  “Now that was thoughtful,” he said flashing his dimples again. he turned to walk away, and a few steps from the counter, he turned and said, “Shannon?”

  “Yes? How did you know my name?”

  He looked down at her breasts, and she giggled forcing them to bounce like a bird flapping their wings.

  “I’m a little short on cash, and I...”

  She interrupted him. “You’re a lot short on cash from what I saw. The ATM is around by the elevators.”

  “You eyeballed my wallet contents. Shame on you. I have no cards remember? Can I cash a check?”

  “Sure, up to $1,000.”

  Eight-hundred-dollars in hand, Alimu-Shine exited the hotel and walked across the street to the McDonald’s and took a seat in a booth. He pulled out the folder that Shannon had given him and began to initial the documents. Most of the generic information on the application had been provided by Amir and the bank had filled most of it out. He signed and dated the forms and then stuffed them back in the folder before he left the fast food joint.

  Moments later, he walked into a check cashing store. He paid the small fee to have the documents faxed to Chemical Bank. He then walked down Broadway, and looked down at his faux ID and smiled. Donald Goddamn Kazanski! That could not be a Black man. He chuckled at the audacity, ignoring the absurdity of him running around with that moniker.

  He called Amir who answered quickly. He asked him, “Did you get the room, yet?”

  “Yes, I did that first. I left a key at the front desk for you.’

  “Me, Alimu-Shine? Or, me, Donald?”

  “Alimu-Shine, fool!”

  # # #

  Amir hung up and followed a burly white man with an unruly mustache and baseball mitts for hands. He had a seat at the banker’s desk.

  “How may I help you, sir?” Joshua asked in an irritating deep voice.

  Amir got right down to business. He needed to prove that he was in the big-boy-league, so he planned to conduct business like one. “My name is Oscar Jones. I had my secretary open a checking and savings account for me. I am going through a divorce and I need another account. I am sure that you can relate to that. I am here to make a deposit and to pick up my debit card.”

  “Sure, no problem. I just need an ID,” he requested and handed Amir a piece of paper. “Jot your social on there for me so that I can pull up your account.”

  Joshua left his desk and walked over to a copier. He photocopied the ID and returned to his desk and passed Amir his welcome package and addendum. He checked the material out, and then asked, “I’d like to have my statements E-mailed only.”

  “Absolutely, how much will you be depositing today?”

  Amir reached into his attaché and pulled out a personal check, which he handed to the banker. Joshua then went over to the teller and deposited Oscar Jones’ check. While he was in the area he printed out a plastic temporary debit card.

  “Here’s your temporary card,” Joshua told Amir. “The pin is the last four digits of your social. When your hard card arrives, please change it to something more comfortable. And here is your deposit receipt.”

  Amir reviewed the receipt and slipped it into his attaché. He thanked Joshua for his time and the left the bank. He hopped into a cab and was whisked to the Marriott Marquis.

  # # #

  Justice drove pass the dreary Manhattan House and became ill. The Manhattan Borough jail was so sick that it had been given the nomenclature: The Tombs. The jail was inappropriately connected to 100 Centre Street criminal court. Rather than stare at the mammoth structure, he turned his head away and eyeballed the traffic light. “Change, damn it,” he mumbled.

  He listened to HOT-97, and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s Me Snitches by Swizz Beats blasted through the speakers. Over the bridge, he merged onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and headed to Queens Village.

  The money that he had acquired from the bank stunt he had pulled was rolled into four tight donut-hole-sized knots and stuffed into coffee mugs. He wrapped the mugs in tissue paper and stuffed them back into their original boxes before he had them shipped to his aunt’s crib back in Philadelphia. He knew that he could trust her.

  Driving along he witnessed the sights from the elegant Fifth Avenue area, and then the Asian refugee camp surrounding Downtown Manhattan. He glanced at the war-torn Queens, and exited the BQE at Hemstead Boulevard.

  The streets had gotten scruffy and cleared a little as he pulled onto 203rd Street. He reached for his cell phone and dialed Monica as he approached her address.

  He pulled over at 113-17 and a slim, long haired, light skinned babe ran out. She arrived at the driver’s window and he let the window down.

  “Damn, I didn’t know that you were coming in a big SUV,” she said, her voice soft and sultry. She had on a tight cashmere sweater, jeans, and Timberland boots.

  “You like big things, huh?” he asked, followed by a salacious smirk. Look at this thugged out bitch, he thought. Gold tooth and red scarf on.

  She nudged his shoulder. “Shut up, nigga. You going to come in or do I have to kidnap your fine ass?”

  You do not look as you did on your Facebook page, but you’d do for a quick fuck, he thought. “You’re tight,” he said. “Let me find a place to park the truck, then I’ll be in,” he told her. “Then I am going to park my dick in ya guts, ma.”

  He knocked lightly on the door and Monica was dressed a little bit more provocative. She had on a bra and jeans with the zipper slightly down and exposed her matching panties. Her breasts we
re perfect lights, like the headlights on a bubble-eye Benz.

  “Come in,” she said, pulling the door open.

  Justice stepped inside the apartment and looked around. The place was not bad for a 20-year-old. Everything was black and gold. Cheap. He had a seat on the sofa after he removed his jacket. She turned and walked to the back area of the apartment, and he watched her fat, bubble-ass drift away. She hollered if he wanted something to drink. He asked for a bottled water.

  She grabbed a water out the ‘fridge and brought it back to him. Handing it to him, she asked, “What do you do again?”

  “You forgot that fast?”

  She giggled and lowered the radio before she sat next to him. “Sorta.”

  “I am in the military. A combat trainer,” he lied. He always told that threatening lie to women that he had met on Internet sites.

  “So, you know how to beat people up?” she cooed in his ear, and nibbled on his ear lobe with her warm mouth.

  He cupped his hand inside her jeans and found that she was shaved. He said, “I have a special training for beating this up,” and then slipped a finger inside of her. He conducted a scratch and sniff test. He then said, “I thought I heard another voice when I came in the door?”

  The shock on her face had proved that she was caught off guard. “That’s my girl, Keisha. She lives up the block.”

  “Where is she at?”

  “In the bathroom. She had a date, but he never showed.”

  “Look, I do not mean to rush or seem thirsty, but I have to be back up Manhattan before the traffic gets fucked up.”

  “Okay, I like a man that ain’t to proud to beg.” She stood and said, “Follow me.”

  Justice followed her to her bedroom. Like the living room all of the furniture was black. The headboard had a cheap mirror attached. At the foot of the bed was a long dresser with another mirror. She turned to leave, but she bumped into Keisha who wore nothing but red boy-shorts.