Hello, welcome to the Foreign Auto Exchange, how can I help you guys?” she said. I paused for a second. We all did. She had a latte tone with dark curls. The only thing more perfect than her smile were her lips—or maybe her skin.
“Seth, I’m looking for Seth,” I replied, all awkward and goofy.
“Dee? He’s waiting for you, let me go back and get him.”
Her teeth were flawless. She could’ve modeled for Colgate or sold Crest ads. Seth walked out. “Dee! Come on back.” I tried not to glance at her as we walked past. Seth’s office was clean and organized. The last time I came he had contracts scattered, but now I could actually see the color of his desk. Pictures of his family and exotic cars lined the walls. I also noticed that those broken-down Legends and Vigors were gone.
“Damn, Seth, you really fixing this place up. What’s up with the girl?”
“Ahh, Asia, she’s great for business. Guys see her ass and buy cars they can’t afford! You see her ass? Look at her ass before you buy a car!”
“Naw, not yet.” I laughed. “What you got for me, though?”
Seth walked us around his lot. Dog Boy and Long Tooth were two steps behind me. I wanted them to see this side of the game. Not me fucking up money, but how these white people who didn’t really care about us easily kissed black ass for money. If we were broke, he’d ignore us, but money made us his equal. Money made him embrace Bip, embrace me and Nick and now Long Tooth and Dog Boy.
A couple of Caddy trucks, some Porsches, and a few Lexuses were parked around the lot. They were showroom clean and I was impressed. Seth told me that the MVA was cracking down on dealerships like his, so he was slowly switching up his business. He wasn’t slanging raggedly luxury cars on their last leg anymore and was being more careful with titling. I told him that my situation was the same. I’m buying a car. I don’t have a real job, and I’ll probably never get one, and he can put it in anyone’s name he needed to as long as I had the title.
Dog Boy found a Beamer. “Dee, the five series wet, bro! This it right here!” Seth quickly said he could cut a smooth deal on that car but I wasn’t with it. The 5 series was nice but I knew too many chicks with them. I considered 5 series, A4’s, X5’s and Lexus ES’s and really anything in that grade or price range to be girl cars—middle-aged-stay-at-home-bake-cookies-for-the-soccer-game mom cars—baby-mother-mobiles. I needed some king shit.
“Seth, you ain’t got nothing for me!” I said, patting him on his back. “Maybe I should go to CarMax and build some credit or some shit.”
“No, no, no, tell me what you want and I’ll bring it back from the auction tomorrow. We’ll detail it and I’ll certify it!”
I told him that I wanted a Benz, an S500. Long Tooth and Dog Boy’s eyes stretched across their faces. I then told Seth that I wanted it to be as new as possible. I agreed to pay cash and let him know that I wasn’t paying that brand tax that commercial dealers try to put on people. Fuck that, I knew the prices.
“Gimme some of the money and I’ll have it delivered.” I had Dog Boy give Seth $20K and told him he’d get the rest after he delivered the car. Seth gave us a Camry to hold while he found my dream car. I asked if we could keep the Camry too and he asked for $10K.
“I only got eight on me, man. Wassup?”
“Do we always have to do this? Nine and a half.”
“$8,250 or I ain’t buying shit!”
He took it and I agreed to do the paperwork another day. I knew I needed another car. I didn’t want to drive my big shit every day. Nick hit me up on my way back down to Madeira Street. He was all excited, saying that he had big news. I didn’t catch him that night but the next day he said that we had a new connect. A dude named Rex from west Baltimore who was fresh out of the feds and back to slanging bricks. Nick already set the buy meeting up, which would take place in few days.
“This nigga gonna look out for us, man!” Nick said as we all sat out on Angie’s steps. Madeira Street was changing. We used to be the only guys out here, but it was hot now, loud music banging from multiple houses and forty-plus people hanging. They were kids in Polo and jumbo-sized hoodies, smoking and drinking, all passing the bottles to the right and the blunts to the left. Kids with no curfews were everywhere like they never had parents. The people that flooded this block never had anywhere to go but here. Most of them didn’t hustle—they just wanted clout. Being out there around us instantly gave them clout.
The sun faded and the crowd thickened. Young Block took that Camry out to grab us some re-released Barkley sneakers and I was stuck hearing Nick go on and on about this connect. A dark Benz rode past us, circled the block, and then stopped. A pretty woman peeked out. “Dee, come over here!” My niggas embarrassed me with “Ohhhhhhhhh,” on top of “Who dat? Who dat?”
I squinted. It was Asia. “That’s my whip, man, y’all hop off my dick!” I yelled, running to the car. Nick shouted something like, “No, this nigga didn’t!” I made Asia pull off before my friends could get a look.
“Oh, my God! You hang out there with those crazy people. I thought you were nice! Do you want to drive your car?”
“I am nice and you can drive. Are we going back to the office to settle up now? Or you wanna chill with me for a little while?” I asked.
“Chill with you? I don’t even know you. Plus you aren’t really my type,” she said, making the left onto Route 40. I asked her how could she know that I’m not her type if she doesn’t know me. That whole statement sounded stupid. I told her to run me past my crib so I could get the money to pay for the cars. We pulled up to my house and I ran inside and grabbed an empty Crown Royal bag. I stuffed it with about forty thousand dollars in hundreds. I hopped back in the car, and we headed to the dealership. She told me that it was nothing personal but she didn’t date African American men.
“Aren’t you black? I don’t get it.”
She then told me that she was from Ethiopia. She was a Towson student and quickly learned that African American men weren’t men. They were scum. They had a monopoly on ignorance, AIDS, and were not good at anything but being ignorant and getting AIDS. She wanted no part of that. No part of the flash, no part of stupid rap music, no part of African American culture in general. She dated a white guy named Ralph. We pulled up at Seth’s. I told her that some of us are different and every race has good and bad people. Then I wished her luck with her studies and completed my transaction.
The old me would’ve tried to explain African Americans to her. I would’ve called her general and tried to persuade her to accept us and our flaws—and be proud if she was receptive to the message. If she wasn’t receptive, I would’ve called her a stupid bitch. But the new me didn’t give a fuck. I had money. Enough to buy her if I really wanted her. She was one of a million girls and my new car was more interesting, anyway.
An hour later, after I finished the paperwork, I jumped in the driver’s seat, pumped that big-ass plate-sized gas pedal and sped off, gunning down Route 40—my Benz was equipped with navigation, heated seats, all types of lights and buttons with buttons for the buttons. I didn’t have any music so I cranked 92Q. Jay Z’s “I Just Wanna Love U (Give it 2 Me)” was on! I opened the moon roof—“I’m hustla, baby! I just want you to know!”