Learning the Hustle
I never thought I'd end up here—standing in a dark alley, heart pounding, gripping my old bag like it was my last hope. The city was tough, and I was learning that the hard way.
"You either toughen up or get trampled," Reny told me earlier. He was right. I had been too naive, thinking ambition and a smile were enough. But hope didn't pay rent, and it didn't stop people from taking advantage of me. I needed to be smarter.
Reny was a hustler, sharp and streetwise. He decided to teach me how to survive. "Lesson one," he said, lighting a cigarette, "never look like a target."
I raised an eyebrow. "And how do I do that?"
"Confidence, Cel. Even when you have nothing, act like you have everything. Walk like you own the street."
That was easier said than done. I had spent weeks feeling small, like I had no control. But if I wanted to change my life, I had to play the game differently.
That night, I tested Reny's advice. I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked into a crowded café where opportunities hid in the shadows. I had only a few dollars left—I needed a job, fast, no questions asked.
I spotted an older man with slicked-back silver hair and a Rolex on his wrist. His kind often came here—businessmen looking for excitement or trouble. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to him.
"Looking for something interesting tonight?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
He raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"
"I can get you into a high-stakes poker game—invitation only."
I was bluffing. But Reny had taught me that hustling wasn't about lying—it was about making people believe they wanted what I had to offer.
The man smirked. "Sounds tempting. What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just a small finder's fee."
He chuckled. "Alright, I'll bite. Where is it?"
My heart raced. I hadn't expected him to agree so quickly. "Meet me here in an hour," I said, buying time. "I'll take you there."
I left before he could ask more questions, my mind spinning. I had one hour to make this real.
I ran back to Reny, breathless. "I have a client."
He exhaled smoke slowly. "You got a location?"
"Not yet."
He chuckled. "You're crazy, cel. But I like it."
Twenty minutes later, we had a spot—a run-down backroom with a table, some old chairs, and a deck of cards. Reny called in a few regulars, men who thrived on easy money and easier marks. By the time my target arrived, everything was set.
He walked in, looked around, then nodded. "Impressive."
The game started. My job was to make sure the right people won and lost just enough to keep things interesting. I watched the man closely, noting how his fingers tapped his glass when he was nervous, how his jaw tightened when he bluffed.
Reny caught my eye from across the room, smirking. He knew I was learning fast.
Then, something changed. The man stopped playing. He leaned back, arms crossed, watching me instead of the cards.
"You're good," he said.
I forced a smile. "I don't play. I just observe."
"That's not what I mean." He tilted his head. "You're hungry. Desperate."
My stomach twisted.
"You remind me of myself, years ago." He slid a business card across the table. "Call me when you're ready to stop running and start building."
I hesitated, then picked it up. His name carried power. He could open doors I didn't even know existed.
As I stepped outside, the cold air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed. Reny followed, grinning. "Not bad for a rookie."
I looked at the card, then at him. "This feels like a shortcut."
"Maybe." He shrugged. "But sometimes, you take the shortcut just to learn the long way isn't always worth it."
I exhaled, letting the night air fill my lungs. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was my chance. Or maybe it was another game, another hustle.
Either way, I was done being played.
It was time to start winning.