Two Hundred

 



Two Hundred

         814Am. Rapid knocks on the wood door annoy me enough to jerk me out of my uneasy sleep. My shoulder and neck ache, and my elbows are rug burned from sleeping on the harsh carpet. I look at the door, hoping the knocks will cease and I can get another hour or so to sleep, but three more knocks, even harder, beat against the thin walls of my unfurnished apartment. I get up slowly because I want them to wait. I stretch out the sore kinks all over my body and haplessly step on a soda can on the floor. The pain doesn’t register. I just feel angry at the lack of sunlight forcing its way through the windows of the next apartment over that leaves me in a dark cave that’s not really my home.

         “It’s February sixth, Robert, you know the rent is due on the first, right?”

         Mr. Bellamy stands with his arms rested on the sphere of his fat belly. He combed his few strands of hair over the top of his orange spotted, shiny head, and they cascade ridiculously over his ears, with a few strands falling like bangs over his eyes.

         “Mr. Bellamy, I know the rent’s due,” I said. “I’ma have it for sure but I just need a few more days…”

         “Hey, rent is due on the first. You’ve already went over the five day grace period.”

         “I know Mr. Bellamy. I just had to pay fifteen hundred to get out of jail so I wouldn’t lose the apartment. If you just give me a few more days…”

         “This ain’t your mother’s house, Robert. You pay to stay, that’s how it works. Your days are up man. If you don’t have the rent by the time my office closes, I’m gonna have to give you the boot buddy.”

         I sigh in defeat. There are so many things I want to say, but he seems to have made up his mind.

         “Mr. Bellamy, I got three hundred I can give you now, but I just need another few days to get the rest.”

         “I’m sorry man, I can’t do it. Get the rest of the money and bring it all to my office.”

         “What time are you gonna close?”

         “I don’t know, so hurry up. I’m trying to get outta here early today.”

         He turns and walks down the hall. I almost follow him so I can argue my case some more, but I know it’s no use. I swing the wood door shut with all my might, but it rubs against the carpet and barley touches the door-pane. Where am I gonna get two hundred dollars? Keeps running through my head like a broken record. There’s nowhere for me to go if I get evicted, I don’t have a job or drugs to sell, and if I get caught stealing while I’m on bond, that’s a one way ticket to the pen. Where the hell am I gonna get two hundred dollars? I snatch my pants up off the floor and put them on. The only shirt I have is the wife beater I’m wearing, so I remind myself to be grateful it’s late in the spring. I know there’s somewhere to get two hundred dollars.

         Luckily I paid my phone bill last week, so I begin coasting through the contacts list and call Marky, my best friend. There’s no answer, so I leave a message. “Yo Marky I got a huge problem man, hit me up as soon as you can.” There’s nothing at all in my apartment, and it smells like fresh, dry paint. All I have is a CD player and a single disk. The only music I have is ‘All Access Bangers: The Goods from the Hoods.’ The only song I’ve listened to in the last thirty days is ‘Hard to Forget,’ by MC Wreck. He talks about leaving his old life behind for something better, only to find, as he says, “my road of life has become a NASCAR track, every turn I make is just winding me back.” I love that fuckin' song.

         9:10 AM. I listened to the song three times on repeat and now I’m ready to head out the door. I keep calling people who might have some money to loan me but I haven’t connected with anyone yet. I gotta find that two hundred dollars. I’m new to this part of town and don’t know the area too well, but I made good with one of the Mexican gangsters after I let him hide in my place when he beat his girlfriend up. It was by coincidence really, he was walking (more like jogging) by just as I was putting the key in my door. He offered me some weed in order to crash for a few hours, just in case they were looking for him where he usually hangs out. By the time I found out what he did I was high. Anyway, the justice system is so lopsided in domestic violence cases it was the least I could do from a real nigga standpoint.

         I was hoping now he would return the favor. I’m not going to ask him for money, but I’m hoping he can point me in the right direction. I walk down the alley between my building and the one next to it, and sure as the sunrise he’s there. He said his name was Luis, but his friends call him Nutty. He’s leaning on a brick ledge wearing Cortez Nike’s, long socks, and Dickies shorts. He’s a true homie and I like that about him. He knows who he is and who he wants to be. I wish I had money or drugs or an electronic devise of some kind to give him, but I’m dry. I hope he takes sheer will as collateral.

         “Wus up homie?” Luis says, squinting like he can’t fully recognize me.

         “What up,” I say, giving him a firm handshake.

         “Ay,” he says, remembering me. “You that cat that helped me out the other night huh? Hey,” pointing a finger to my chest, “I appreciate that a lot bud, I really do. It ain't every day you come across a cat that understands some real shit, know what I mean?” he pulls a brown, neatly rolled cigar from his ear. “You want to hit this blunt with me?”

         “Yeah,” I say. “But man I got to get some money fast before I get evicted.” He toys with his lighter. “Maybe you can put me on something right quick?”

         He inhales deeply and blows the lit end of the cigar to keep its embers hot. “Shoot, I don’t know bud. What’ you trying to do?”

         “A quick lick man, anything. I been stealing since I was eight. You don’t know somebody to knock off real fast?”

         He passes me the cigar and looks in my eyes for a long moment. Then he strokes his chin, pulling at strands of mature hair.

         “How long you gonna be around here for?”

         “Maybe twelve or one, I can’t stop until I scrape this money up.” I inhale and pass it back.

         “Well, you did help me out that time.” He takes one more good look at me. “Those bitch ass wetbacks just got some stuff the other night, and they try to sell it on my block. They always leave around like 1130 for beer. When you see them leave, get their stash and bring it back to me. I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

         “Alright, I can do that, but I can’t get two hundred for the whole stash?”

         “Hey bud you’re the one desperate, not me. I have to take advantage. Plus, we got to sell the stuff before we make any loot, know what I mean?”

         “Ok, good lookin' out man, I’ll get that.”

         “You sure?” He asks.

         “Yeah, for sure, where do they stay?”

         He points a finger to the next street over. “The first apartment on that corner right there, by them dead ass bushes…” I nod my head in understanding. “They stay in number 214.”

         “214,” I repeat. “I have that for you in a few hours man.”

         “Good,” he says. “But first,” he takes a long drag and inhales deeply, then passes the cigar back to me. “We get high as a kite, and then you go work.”

         Being born in America means your life is dedicated not to god or country, but to the almighty dollar, no matter what. Every pursuit of a life in America is dependent on what role it plays in the social and financial economy. Money represents the value of an individual’s labor and thus the value of the individual to society as a whole. At the moment, I’m worth negative two hundred, so I’m sitting here, waiting to see some Mexicans come out of a building occupied almost exclusively by Mexicans.

         Its 11:15

         I decide a better way to stake out the place is to walk up to the second floor and wait for them to come out of the apartment. Only thing is I don’t want them to see me hanging out in the halls and panic, maybe even come back and catch me in the act. I walk up to floor number two and walk down the straight, dim hallway. Stopping in front of door 214 I can hear muffled music and voices talking in Spanish. I walk back to the stairwell and count the doors on the way. I sit down on the top stair and wait, hoping they come out before I lose the nerve to do the job.

         Waiting is a mental game. I’m anxious and nervous, but I know what I have to do. I can almost smell the money, and feel it in my hand. The feeling is almost like a strong hate, frustration and anger to the fact that I can stop at nothing, or I’ll be on the street. It’s the way it is. You live to pay bills and die, and you might as well get it, or just sit on the street with a blanket. I’m angry that the world has brought me to this. I wish I could claim some land, get a gun and protect myself. I would grow my own food, and live simply. Instead I have to rob gangsters in order to survive another day.

         I take some deep breaths and focus on visualizing what I’m going to do. I contemplate where the stash might be. I don’t know anything about them, so I imagine checking the living room, in the couch, under the coffee table, and inside the television stand. Then, I imagine if I haven’t gotten lucky, heading to the freezer, checking the pantry and any drawers in the area. I hope I get it before I have to go to the bedrooms. But I plan to start at the beds and work my way outward from there. All I know is I have to find it.

         I try to think of a different way to get the money while I wait. If I think of a better alternative before they come out, I won’t do it. I have to make another hundred anyway, so it’s good to think ahead.

         I hear loud muffled voices and rattling. I position myself to get a peek down the hall to see what door is opening. I can tell pretty clearly where the doors are positioned, so when they come out I’ll know it’s them. I’m waiting for 214 to open.

         The handle rattles and the door creaks as a group of brown skinned men emerge about five doors down from me, into the hallway. I breathe to control my heartbeat and relax as I ease my body to the bottom of the stairs. I walk out of the door and around the corner so they don’t see me hanging around the halls. I head out through the parking lot and wait in the shade of a young tree.

         I watch for the four men and see them exit the apartment building and walk a few feet to a black Chevy Monte Carlo on top of large chrome wheels. The car starts, backs out of its parking space and skids onto the street.

         I sprint back into the building and up the stairs. I know they won't be gone long, there’s a liquor store on almost every other block in Denver, with my heart racing as fast as my feet I stop in front of 214 and press my ear against the door to take a quick listen. I don’t hear anything so I step back and lunge my foot into the door. It swings open, slams into the wall divider and shuts by the time I slide my body inside. The living room is on the left. I rush in and stop right next to the small coffee table in the middle of the room.

         “Que paso pinche cavrone!?”

         There’s weed on the table, a pound of it, just sitting right there on top of the table.

         Time slows down when your heart beats faster than your thoughts can contemplate. In a time span that feels much longer than a minute I turn and look at the man. I study his facial features, his thin goatee, his sharp, slanted jawbone, and his upturned eyebrows.

         We’re both shocked into action. He comes at me running with his fists in the air. By now I figure he doesn’t have a gun. He dives, and I step aside, then crash my weight into his chest. We both fall on the coffee table and the glass flips off the legs and we both crash to the floor. I push myself up with my arms. We’re both screaming and grunting. I ball up a fist and launch a good blow right to his temple. He kicks his legs up and forces me into the couch. I hit the corner of the arm and grunt in pain. As I fall to the floor, my eye catches a glimpse of the weed still lying on the ground. Most of the brick is still intact. I scramble to my feet and he does too. I grab the brick and bolt for the door, stumbling. He jumps up and pushes me hard. I hit the wall next to the door and he follows with a hard punch to my kidney. I know I have to wrap this up before his friends get home. I turn and swing my arm as hard as I can but I only catch him in the shoulder. He goes for a take down, leaning in and trying to wrap his arms around my legs. I catch him in the act and instead land a strong knee right to his chin. He stumbles back and I know he’s dazed. With the weed in my hand, I’m able to yank the door open and run out in the hallway.

         As my feet beat against the floor, carrying me down flights of steps, I hear him close behind me. Remembering where the Monte Carlo was parked, I head the opposite way and sprint through an alley that takes me straight back to my building. I figure if I gain enough distance on him I can lay low in my apartment until I can meet Luis.

         I turn a corner at the end of the alley and peek to see if I lost my tail. He’s still behind me, but far enough that I know I can lose him with another block or so. I cut through the parking lot of my building and walk in the back entrance. Without stopping, I run to my apartment, close it, lock it, throw the weed in the closet, sit down next to it, close the door, and close my eyes to wait for a couple hours or so.

         1:57 PM. I emerge from the closet feeling groggy after a nap at the wrong time. I wasn’t really tired, but my body was glad to rest after the first run I had made in quite a while. I don’t have any blinds, so luckily I live on the third floor where it’s hard to see in the windows without a ladder. I walk to my bedroom window and cautiously peer outside in case there’s anybody still looking for me. It looks quiet and still but I can feel a restlessness that seems to warn of a looming danger hiding and secretly shushing the wind. I think about going to find Luis but decide to wait a few minutes before I do anything hasty.

         As soon as I sit down on the carpeted floor my cell phone rings its default chime.

         “Hello,” I answer.

         “Its Marky dude, what’s going on?”

         “Marky, I really need you to help me out of a jam, man. I need two hundred bucks now before I get evicted from my house. I only need a few days to pay it off man. I just really gotta get that today.”

         “I might know a way you could get some money. My mom’s moving and I gotta take my daughter to the clinic. I don’t got any money, but I’m sure my mom’ll kick you something to go help her. Can you get there by about 2:45?”

         “Shit, do you think you can pick me up?”

         “Naw man, I gotta get my daughter to this clinic before I be late.”

         “I can make it man. Your mom still live over there on Warren Street?”

         “Yeah, let me call her and tell her what’s up and I’ll call back and tell you what she says.”

         “Cool, good looking out Marky, you coming through for your boy right now.”

         “Alright.”

         I hang up the phone and peer out the window again. I m trying to figure out how to bring the stash I stole to Luis, get to Marky's mom's house and get back before the office closes between four and five thirty, if I’m going to make it I have to go now. I look around the apartment for some kind of prop or disguise. There’s no doubt in my mind the Mexicans are still looking for me, so I have to tread lightly to make it to the alley. There’s no change of clothes, and I’m pretty sure I’ll stand out like a sore thumb, so I shrug and head for the door, just hoping to speak to Luis before I’m spotted.

         I don’t see anything just outside the door of my apartment, and there’s nobody loitering in the halls. I walk to the exit door of the complex and look outside through the glass. There are small groups of people scattered about. They’re all Hispanic and they all look the same to me. I step outside into the bright sun. Every voice I hear sounds like someone calling to me to stop, but I ignore it all and keep walking briskly, confidently, and as incognito as I possibly can. I see a group of people standing where Luis was earlier so I walk up slowly and study the faces. None of them are Luis.

         I keep walking fairly unnoticed until I reach the end of the alley. Then I decide to keep going straight to the bus stop so I can hurry and get to Marky's moms house.

         4:07 PM. After helping Marky’s mom haul an excessive amount of needless junk into her van, like old typewriters that don’t work, a dresser halfway torn apart, and boxes and boxes that she had no idea of the contents herself. She paid me 50 dollars, and I dialed my apartment manager to tell him I’m coming with the money. He says hell stay until 6PM so I figure I’ll be okay as long as Luis keeps his end of the deal.

         I go back to the alley. Every Mexican I’ve seen looks just like the guy I was fighting earlier, so I figure paranoia has been getting the best of me. I decide that it Luis isn’t there, I’ll just wait until he comes back. To my elation, he’s standing there with two other guys, so I walk up.

         “What’s up homie,” I say as I shake his hand.

         “You what’s up foo, what you up to?” He asks with the suspicious sneer of an untold secret.

         “I been hustling man, I got that for you though.” I respond.

         “Yeah? You got it now or what?”

         “It’s at the crib, you tryna grab it?”

         “Yeah let’s go. I’ll be right back fools.” He calls to his two friends.

         I notice we’re both looking around while we walk, and there’s a large group, maybe eight to eleven guys standing right next to the back entrance of my apartment building.

         “Them wetbacks been bitchin' all day about their fuckin’ sack bud.”

         “For real man?” A chill went down my back. I think for a second, reliving the earlier moment. “Oh well,” I said. “I would be too.”

         Luis chuckles and says “oh well, shit don’t trip fool they ain’t gonna do shit. We sweat them fools all the time and they just cry about it like some fags. They think they’re hard just because there’s a lot of them, but my crew don’t roll like that, I be on the solo all the time…you seen me, know what I mean?”

         I nod in agreement as we reach the end of the alley and the group of guys starts walking toward us. I know it’s the guys I robbed and I just hope Luis doesn’t leave me hanging out to dry. When they reach us, Luis starts talking to them in Spanish, and I have no idea what’s going on. They seem to listen to him with the respect of a captain, or a dictator they didn’t have a choice but to obey. I’m amazed as I watch the space they give him, and the caution they use moving around him. We stand for a few minutes while Luis converses with two of them in particular. After they’re done talking, the two Luis was talking to look at me for a long time, then suddenly the group breaks apart, making a way for me and Luis.

         “What was that all about?” I ask as we walk up the steps to my apartment.

         “Those were they fools you robbed earlier, didn’t you recognize them?”

         “No. I only seen one of them when I was in there. What did you say?” We reach the door of my apartment and I put the key in.

         “I told them if they fuck with you we’ll blow their ass off the map bud. That was their whole set right there. My set is fifty deep nigga, do the math.”

         I grab the weed from the closet and hand it to Luis. He smiles in satisfaction and examines the product for a few moments before handing me two hundred out of a wad in his pocket.

         “Thanks man, that helps me out for real, I appreciate that.” I say happily, now I even have fifty dollars left over for later

         “Hey, no problem bro. don’t get caught slippin' or the wetbacks will fuck you up. You better kick it with us in that alley whenever you come outside. Plus I can have more jobs for you.”

         “I hope I wont need it, I been tryna get a job man, soon I’ll have one.”

         “Hey bro you gonna need protection out here no doubt. Do your thing bud, but come see me in the alley, ok? I don’t want them S.A’s to come after you. Plus, you did me a favor, and I did you two favors. Now you owe me a favor,” he reaches his hand out for me to shake. “Okay?”

         When I shook his hand, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I had to return the favor, and some favors, well sometimes they’re your demise in disguise.