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MALCOLM X (V.O.) And because I had been a hustler, I knew better than all whites knew, and better than nearly all of the black 'leaders' knew, that actually the most dangerous black man in America was the ghetto hustler.
Carter, nicknamed Money Man on the count of his sizable amount of cash and long line of luxury cars, leaned on the steel balcony, admiring the amazing view of Crowne Heights. He released a thick cloud of smoke into the air, thinking about life before the madness.
MALCOLM X (V.O.) Why do I say this? The hustler, out there in the ghetto jungles, has less respect for the white power structure than any other Negro in North America. The ghetto hustler is internally restrained by nothing. He has no religion, no concept of morality, no civic responsibility, no fear--nothing. To survive, he is out there constantly preying upon others, probing for any human weakness like a ferret.
MONIQUE stands in the doorway, allowing the cold breeze to kiss her chestnut skin and enter the spacious master bedroom. She parts her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, she just stands there and watches Carter attentively.
Flashbacks of his bloody chest enter his mind. The sound of ribs cracking screech through his eardrums, followed by the sounds of men, taunting him.
"Ayo Carter, nice car. Run me them keys nigga!" The voice never left his mind. He could still feel the cold steel on the back of his head. The scar on the side of his jaw never failed to remind him of the robbery that happened over a year ago. As bad as he wanted to forget it, he couldn't.
MALCOLM (V.O.) The ghetto hustler is forever frustrated, restless, and anxious for some 'action'. Whatever he undertakes, he commits himself to it fully, absolutely. What makes the ghetto hustler yet more dangerous is his 'glamour' image to the school-dropout youth in the ghetto. These ghetto teenagers see the hell caught by their parents struggling to get somewhere, or see that they have given up struggling in the prejudiced, intolerant white man's world. The ghetto teenagers make up their own minds they would rather be like the hustlers whom they see dressed 'sharp' and flashing money and displaying no respect for anybody or anything. So the ghetto youth become attracted to the hustler worlds of dope, thievery, prostitution, and general crime and immorality.
Monique finally wraps her arms around his abdomen, inhaling the strong scent of his signature Polo Sport cologne. "Come back to bed." She whines, running her hand up and down his chest. She couldn't sleep without him.
