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.”