Ronaldo Gilley

A short story from the Hustler’s Prayer series…

Roland pulled his black gym bag from the huge walk-in closet. He placed it on the red satin sheets that lay across his luxurious king-size bed. He unzipped the bag, revealing stacks upon stacks of rubber-banded hundred dollar bills. One-hundred grand in total.

Yeah, it’s all there. He thought to himself.

He had the intention of using it for one purpose: buy-money. Roland was a lone-wolf hustler. He used to belong to one of Harlem’s most notorious drug crews back in the day. That all changed five years ago when the Feds snatched up Kareem Edwards along with most of the crew in a drug conspiracy case. The guys who didn’t snitch either got life or received football number sentences. Roland evaded the charge on a technicality – he was already serving time on an assault conviction during the time in which the conspiracy case was built.

Roland had beat the Feds. Now, he was playing the game for himself. No crew, no boss, just him. He did his dirt by his lonely. Most drugs are controlled by big crews, but there were always independent dealers on the fringe, they just needed an alternate supply line. That’s where Roland came in. He’d link up with dealers looking to score a kilo or two, make the deal, collect his money and be out. No hanging on the block, no serving junkies, no gangster bullshit – just trade the product for cash and break out. He had become pretty successful at it too. He’d left Harlem and moved to a suburb in Jersey to get away from the heat and stay under the radar. His crib was no mansion, but far from modest. His closets were filled with bags of cash and his driveway held a Range Rover 4.6, a Porsche 911, and BMW X5.

He lifted his t-shirt and patted his waist to make sure his Glock-9 was secured. He zipped the gym bag and threw the strap over his shoulder. He smoothed his t-shirt down and left the bedroom.

Deja had already been sitting in the living room when he walked in. Roland noted the TV was off. And she was tapping her foot on the floor nervously. He sighed. She was always on edge when he went on a “business trip”. He was too. But he couldn’t show her that. He needed to maintain his cool, so she wouldn’t worry. That was also part of the job.

“Ain’t no reason to worry, Dej” he said as he bent down in front of her to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back in a couple days, no problem.”

Deja looked up at him with fear and regret in her eyes. She formed her lips to speak, but closed her mouth and took a deep breath. She trembled as she exhaled. Roland tossed the bag on the floor and took a knee by her side.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, caressing her chin. He loved her cleft chin. She called it her dimple and hated it, but it was one of his favorite features on the beautiful woman he adored.

Deja took his hand into hers. She closed her eyes as she placed a gentle kiss on the top of his hand. “Rollie, don’t go.”

“Babe, don’t trip,” he said with a slight smile. “It’s just a quick run. You know how I do.”

He expected her to calm down, but her expression turned grim.

“Yeah, you say that, but you put your life and freedom on the line every time you walk out that door.”

Roland stood and grabbed the bag. “Deja, I ain’t got time for this.” He headed for the door.

“You PROMISED me!” she yelled.

Roland stopped his advance and turned around. He stared at her – silently, impatiently.

She continued. “Was it another one of your lies?”

She didn’t have to say what was understood. Another lie. Roland and Deja almost broke up two years ago due to an affair he had with a woman in Queens. Deja confronted him several times about it, but Roland denied the infidelity for months. Eventually, Deja busted them and Roland had to come clean. He’d since vowed that he’d never cheat again. Can’t beat a woman’s intuition – it was God’s gift to woman to protect them in a harsh world. But, Rollie was true to his word. He’d cut the side-chick off and remained faithful since then.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout, ma?” he asked, playing dumb. He knew what she meant though. It wasn’t the cheating. Roland had promised Deja that he would get out of the game three years ago. Go legit, so they could raise a family. But three years had come and went and he was in the game deeper than ever.

Deja popped her lips. “Why you runnin’ game, Rollie? You know what I mean.”

Roland set the bag down, walked towards her, and grabbed her in his arms.

“Look, baby,” he said, kissing her softly on her cheek. “I’m bein’ straight wit you. I’m gettin’ out this life. I’m so close right now. You don’t even understand.”

He looked her directly in her eyes. Even as she stood there furious in his arms, he couldn’t deny how beautiful and vibrant she was – no one could. Her deep ebony skin glowed. Her petite feminine frame pressed against him was the perfect contrast to his light brown skin and tall, muscular frame.

“Just one more score,” he continued. “And I’m out. I’m doin’ all this for you.”

Deja let that marinate in her mind for a bit before speaking. Roland leaned in to kiss her, but she turned and pulled away.

“Well, if it’s for me, I don’t want it.”

Roland twisted his face at her in response.

“Rollie, listen to me,” she demanded. “The money, house, cars, jewelry. I don’t care about none of it.”

She stroked the side of his face gently. “All I want is you, Rollie. Baby, don’t go. For me.”

“Look, Deja,” he said, removing her hand. “Why you always trippin’? You actin’ like you met a different nigga up in Harlem. I was certified in the streets when you met me, straight up. You wasn’t checkin’ for no square-ass nigga then…now you want me to be one. Shit.”

“People change, Rollie.”

“Well, I ain’t changed, goddamnit!” he spewed back. “Why you gotta go changing—”

“I’m pregnant,” she said, silencing Rollie. “That’s why.”

Roland gasped. “What?”

“Yeah, you gonna be a father,” she affirmed.

Roland felt his heart sink into his gut. “When? How long? When you found ou—”

“Yesterday,” she answered. “I been late. Guess I been in denial for the last two months.

Pregnant? Roland couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the signs – the weird late night cravings, mood swings, random fatigue. It was all there, in front of him the whole time. He was just too busy hustling to notice. He stepped closer and placed his hand over her still-flat belly.

“I got a son in there?” he said, smiling ear to ear.

Deja jerked her head back. “Excuse me. You don’t know if it’s a boy. I’m having a girl.”

He continued rubbing her belly, imagining the day when it would be a round pot-belly holding his heir, his prince. “It don’t even matter. Boy, girl. That’s gonna be my little royalty right there.”

Deja softened her gaze. “You’re not upset?”

“Huh, you playin’, right?” he responded, still cheesing. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

“So, you will you stay?” she asked, staring at him intently.

Roland furrowed his brow. “You playin’ games to keep me here, Dej?”

“I ain’t playin’ games,” she yelled. “You been playin’ games with me for the last three years.”

Roland grabbed her wrist softly. “Deja, I’m serious all the way with you. That’s why I put that ring on your finger, ma. This ain’t a game to me.”

Deja didn’t respond. She didn’t care about his words. Same shit he been kickin’ for years.

Roland was careful to notice that she wasn’t buying into it.

“I mean,” he said. “This even more reason for me to do this, nahmean.”

Infuriated, she pulled away from him and shoved him backward. “Don’t run that game like this is all for me, Rollie,” she warned. “You doin’ this for you. You can’t give up the life—”

“I’m not doin’ it for me,” he countered. “I’m doin’ this for you…me,”—he placed his hand back on her stomach—“and our baby.”

He wrapped her in his arms. “Just one more score, bae,” he promised. “And I’m done.”

He continued. “I’ll have enough doe to set us up good, chill for a moment. Figure out some things, you know. I ain’t tryin’ to hustle forever. But, with my record, Corporate America ain’t a option. Neither is minimum wage. But if I can just get a minute to think, I can run my own legitimate business. That’s what this is about, Dej. Big Picture.”

Deja didn’t say anything. She didn’t fight his embrace anymore either. She leaned into him, his six foot three frame towering over her. She rested her head on his chest.

“Do what you gotta do,” she whispered. “Just come back home to me. Come back home to us.”

“I always do,” he reassured, kissing the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes.