Page 6 of In Too Deep

“The only reason she ain’t giving you no hours is because you pretty,” my co-worker Allen randomly mentioned.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his Buick Regal, we ate American Deli, courtesy of him. He opted for a Philly cheesesteak combo with fries, and I settled on a ten-piece honey hot lemon pepper wing combo with seasoned fries and a bottled water to wash it down.

I could barely hear my thoughts before he started rambling on and on about nothing I cared to know.

Allen was cool though, and we were about the same age.

He used to work at the Kroger Distribution Warehouse, but opted for something different versus being treated like a slave every day.

From what he’s told me, he used to make good money, but those twelve-hour shifts were a pain in the ass.

Hearing him boast about the pay, I tried to put in an application, but they wouldn’t hire me due to not having any warehouse experience, which sounded stupid to me.

Besides docking a nine to five, Allen wore the hat of a scammer, aside from selling guns.

I vented to him about barely being put on the schedule for next week, and this week I’d only docked twenty hours.

That wasn’t enough to put bread on the table.

Allen knew I stole, and if I wanted to quit my job right now, I could, but I didn’t want to make it a habit.

Stealing wasn’t supposed to be long term either.

Popping a ketchup covered fry in my mouth, I shook my head at his comment. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I stated after swallowing my food. “Me being pretty doesn’t have anything to do with giving me hours. She’s rarely at work anyway,” I shrugged. “It shouldn’t matter to her.”

“That’s the way shit be. I need some fine shit to look at, I’m tired of looking at these Earl Sinclair face ass bitches,” he joked, getting a laugh out of me. “Ms. Keisha caught her nigga looking at you one day and been out for you ever since,” he mentioned.

Twisting the cap on the bottle of purified water, I guzzled it down before scrunching my face up into a frown. “What does what her nigga do have anything to do with me?”

He hunched his shoulders after taking a bite from his sandwich. “Bitches be weird and shit like that,” he replied with a mouth full of food.

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Nah, not if they’re dating on the low. That’s a company policy. If they were married, she’d have to transfer him to another store. You ain’t the only one. Bitches be so insecure over shit they can’t control.”

“Ain’t that the truth?”

“But that shit you be doing, boostin’ or whatever you call it, how much you be bringin’ in?”

I glanced over at him momentarily. “Why? Are you the Feds?”

“Mane quit fuckin’ playin’ with me, bruh. Fuck I look like?”

“A nigga that’s asking way too many questions.”

“Nah, you know I ain’t on none of that dumb ass shit. I got a proposition for you though. You’re guaranteed $4,500 a week.”

“What type of proposition,” I inquired.

Before shifting in my seat, I closed the Styrofoam plate, securely latching the lid in the holes, and tied the bag up. I used the napkins from the bag to clean my hands as best as I could, including cleaning the sauce from underneath my polished white fingernails.

“Stealing iPhones,” he answered.

“Stealing iPhones,” I shrieked, scrunching my face up in confusion.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“And how the hell would I go about doing that? I don’t know a plug transporting that type of stuff.”

Allen gave me a stale face, before smirking, then did the Birdman hand rub. “Do I look like the type of nigga who’ll ever steer you wrong? Just listen to this play and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I raised my brow inquisitively.

That type of money could elevate me better than stealing could.

It kept me fed, but the money was slow until it was time for me to re-up again.

People knew me for having household items like laundry detergent, dishwashing liquid, cleaning supplies, scented plug-ins, tissue, and paper towels in bulk.

To me, it’s better than boosting clothes because I never have to go through the hassle of stealing from the stores.

I found a plug on Telegram. He’s reliable when he wants to be but he has other clientele.

He’s a black-owned truck driver who delivers goods state to state.

Private owners, who have the funds, don’t mind paying for their goods to be driven, but he makes more money delivering to popular franchises, like Family Dollar, Kroger and Walmart.

We have a solid game plan in place. I pay him upfront for what I need, and he gives a solid count of what he has so the process is more straightforward when it’s time to drop the load.

So no one suspects anything, his grand scheme is that his loot gets hijacked during pit stops.

It’s been working out that way for years now.

He’s the source, and I’d rather do it this way than end up in a messy situation that could backfire on me.

“I got a nigga, don’t ask me for first and last names ‘cause don’t none of that shit matter.

He’s a delivery driver for FedEx Ground and Amazon.

Niggas purchase refurbished iPhones through Amazon all the time, but the shipments aren’t as big.

Though he’ll charge you less if you copped them from Amazon, but with FedEx, you’re guaranteed a bigger payout, rather than a lil’ iPhone here and there dumping from Amazon.

Companies actually ship through FedEx because they’re a global company with better advancements and give companies more shipping options via aircraft cargo and shit. You hear me?”

“I’m listening,” I assured him.

“You’ll contact him through me and you’ll meet him at the FedEx Ground warehouse before he pulls up to unload the loot.”

“And how would he know which packages to give me?”

“Because, they're marked with certain colored dots, on the boxes.”

“And no one would suspect anything?”

He shrugged. “It won’t fall back on you. You’d sell them through Facebook Marketplace or for a better profit to keep the Feds off yo ass you have the option to sell them to phone companies like Telo Wireless, Metro, and Boost. You can’t sale shit to Apple because they’d suspect fraud.”

Inhaling deeply, I fixed my gaze ahead and mentally processed and integrated the scene.

Thinking about what could go right, more so what could go wrong too.

I’d grown content with the way I’ve done things, and I wasn’t the middleman on the back end.

My contact was direct with my connect. If this went right with Allen, I’d have to be on P’s and Q’s.

It definitely wouldn’t be something I’d do long term, but I could stack up enough money until I’m financially satisfied.

“How much would I break off with you?”

“10% is what I’d charge anybody else, but 5% since you’re so fucking pretty. You’d give him 20% percent—ten upfront and 10% of the sales.”

I bit down on the corners of my lip and started bouncing my leg up and down. “Don’t give me no handouts because I’m pretty. I don’t need you saying you did me any favors.”

“I swear you’re something else, wit’ yo pretty self.” Allen bit down on his lip and chuckled. “And people think you easy. I can’t even bite down on my lip and look at you without you shootin’ me down.” Shaking his head, he sucked his teeth before adjusting himself in the driver’s seat.

“People think I’m easy,” my eyes grew wide. “Why would anybody think that?”

“I don’t know. People think that girls like you—the bigger girls are insecure, so y’all always be willing to try shit and be down whatever to beat statistics,” he answered cooly. “The other side of it is pretty privilege, but that’s another topic for another day.”

Drifting the subject back to the topic at hand, I asked him to clarify the game plan again.

It sounded so tempting, but life threatening.

My options were limited. I didn’t have any more inventory, and apparently my plug was on vacation, so he wasn’t doing any more deliveries as of right now.

He opted for someone to fill in for him, but dragging new people along didn’t seem right, especially if I’d never done business with him before.

Even the shit with Allen seemed tricky, the upside is that before breaking bread, I get to see the product beforehand.

I used the 10% with the money Rome gave me yesterday and flipped it.

He gave me more than enough, but not quite enough to pay my rent up.

I was playing catch up—robbing Peter to pay Paul.

My landlord could only grant me an extension for so long until he felt compelled to file the eviction.

With me being four months behind, I needed all the money I could get and none of that tallies the late fees for the inconvenience.

“So when is the drop off?”

“Tonight, at 8:30, you’d meet him at the location an hour before. I know somebody who can give you a FedEx badge so you won’t have any issues going through the gate?”

“And you sure they won’t suspect anything?”

“You ain’t committing bank fraud, shit go smooth every time, just don’t go runnin’ yo mouth to anybody. This shit is strict.”

“I got you.”

“So yeah,” he grinned. “I’ll need your number and shit so I can send you the location when it’s time.”

I pursed my lips while giving him a sadistic side eye. “Don’t use it for nothing else.”

“You’ll never have to tell me nothin’ twice. Just send me a picture of your driver’s license so I can have my nigga make the badge.”

It didn’t feel like I was shaking hands with the Devil, but part of me wanted to stir up faulty emotions. Before every lick, it’s common to get the jitters, but this one felt different than the rest.