Previously: After we landed in D.C., there was more buses taking us to the armory than there are people at the Mardi Gras Zulu parade. Mardi Gras was my best part of the year. You could see everybody you wanna see. Old school friends, old teachers, kids. I could tell whether my buddies be locked up or dead if I don’t see them for Mardi Gras. You get fake undercover police at Mardi Gras, acting like they drunk. One Mardi Gras me and my friends met this guy on the street. He say he from out of town and he trying to cop some weed. With me bein’ a city slicker and bein’ so high, I was just thinkin’ about the money. So I went around the corner and pick up a leaf off the ground and tear it up like weed, and I put it in a bag. I tell him, “You can’t pull the money out here, man, the cops will see us.” So he say let’s step in the thrift shop. We standin’ inside this shop surrounded by silverware, costumes, beads, all kind of stuff. While we’re in there, I see a lady outside the door shakin’ her head at the guy. I say to my buddy, “This guy about to be a police. We goin’ to jail…
I set the fake weed on a shelf. When I reach for the money, he shows me his badge. At the same time he talkin’ into his shirt. It gotta be a microphone in there.
When my buddy and I tried to go out the door, the lady from across the street as well as other police box us in, and now they walk us around to the police station near Bourbon Street.
I told my buddy that at first I had an instinct, but then I seen all that money—and I thought we hit the goldpot.
They handcuff us to a chair and escort us to jail in a transport truck. After that we got booked for possession of marijuana. They arrest a lot of people at Mardi Gras, so
the cell was full. There ain’t really no room for us, but they squeeze us in.
We spent four days there, until they come in the cell and tell us the District Attorney did not accept the charge. He tell us they sent the fake weed to the lab and it wasn’t nothing but leaves.
So I and my buddy roll out the next day.
With me bein’ a hustler, Bourbon Street is where I would go every day, because you always have people slippin’. They be drunk and you can talk them out of something. Scam artists from everywhere know about Bourbon Street.
You got hustlers from up North go to Mardi Gras and Bourbon Street to hustle. You even got advertising by fake lawyers. They’ll give you a card with their phone number but they ain’t gonna be there. They tell you they get you out in 30 minutes. They hustle the hustlers.
I used to like jumpin’ up on a float to snatch beads or other things. We would give beads to the girls and tell them, “Pretty pearls for pretty girls.”
Now that I’m older and more focused, I see things different. I wish I could turn back the hands of time, but it’s a done deal. I have no problem today helping, mentoring or sharing with anyone because I like to give back. I wouldn’t want to get paid for it. I just love leading others to a better life.
Coming soon on Amazon: My Katrina story for Kindle.
Look for my new Street Sense series: After Katrina.
