by De'Kari
“Mom! Mom! What the hell is going on?” French Tip yelled trynna get some order in the room.
The nurses looked at her like abused puppies wanting to be saved.
They were scared and didn’t know what to do.
“I ordered two Jell-O’s and this here heffer only brought me one and when I told her that she made a mistake she gone tell me it don’t look like I need two helpings of Jell-O. Trick! I’ll fuck you up!” She jumped like she was going to hit them with the cane.
The nurses screamed and hugged themselves. French couldn’t help laughing. That was Oscar approved, it was so funny. She turned towards the nurses “ladies, you may go.” They started to scurry towards the door. “Oh, and please bring her damn Jell-o.”
To the one who made the crack about the Jell-o she got directly in her face. “And if you ever disrespect my mother again, I’mma kick yo fuckin ass before I kill you.”
“I….I…I’m…” she tried
“Get the fuck outta here! Hoe!” Mama Beckum shouted.
The last nurse scurried away like a mouse cornered by an alley cat.
“Sit your butt down, Mama!” “In here scaring the shit outta the little white women.” She told her mother as she walked over and gave her a kiss on her cheek.
“Shut up. That heffer needs to know who she messing with.” No sooner did the words leave her mouth than there was a knock on the door. A new nurse walked in timidly and sat the Jell-O with a spoon on the tray next to the bed and scurried out of the room.
Doctor Butler told Mama Beckum that she really should stay at least a week and rest up, but she would be able to be cleared for release the following day if she wanted.
They sat and talked for two hours. They had a lot to talk about. They still had to bury Clark. Or at least his empty casket. In the end the decision they made was just to have the mothafucka buried. No-one could live through or felt like dealing with the hassle of another funeral. Besides, they could neva say good-bye in their hearts.
**** N. D. ****
Chapter V
“So, as you see brother Steve, I’ve kept abreast of everything that has been going on. When I’m done, we will have a better living for our people and you would’ve made a substantial amount of money.” Dok reached out and grabbed the glass of Chai tea Steven had provided and took a drink. His first sip instantly creating his new favorite drink.
When he first walked into his office Steve didn’t know who the brother was, but he knew he meant business. Ten minutes into their meeting, Steve knew he was right with his original assessment. Now, it had been forty-five minutes of Steve listening to the well-dressed man and Steve was outright impressed. Not off the money he stood to make, although that was always a good thing. Steve was impressed with what the brotha had in mind, as well as with the man’s intellectual level and business sense.
“Tell me, Mr. Holliday, where would you like me to begin?” This rather unassuming question from Steve would begin something major. He sat in his butter-soft, leather chair behind the Presidential desk he had imported from China. It had belonged to some Ming General during the first Dynasty. It’s been years planning, mapping everything out in his mind over and over constantly. Dok knew exactly where he wanted to begin. Where he needed to begin for maximum results.
“First off, we need property big enough to house a Youth Center in the following areas, East Palo Alto, East and West Oakland, Berkeley, Richmond and throughout San Francisco” Dok pulled a card out of his inside jacket pocket of his Michael Jordan suit. “This is one of my colleagues. If you give him a call, he can fill you in on a few locations in each of the areas that I mentioned that we feel would be prime for what we have in mind.”
Steve looked at the card which read “Sons of Khatari” the name Little Thomas was underneath C.E.O. He looked up at Dok with a raised eye brow.
“Trust me, my brotha, I tried to get him to use a more professional name. He wasn’t having it.” Dok smiled remembering the long conversation he had with Lil Thomas about it. If one of the buildings s run down a little, that’s okay because one of my brothas has a construction company. As long as it isn’t deemed inhabitable we can deal with it. Oh, and Steve, call me Dok, brotha.”
Steve reached out and accepted the hand that Dok offered him. He was eager to get started for many reasons. The most important being, he was tired of seeing his community look like shit and the kids being forced to run to the streets because of a lack of things for them to do. He was tired of seeing his people kill themselves and destroy their future. He was ready to help.
Lil Rell and Scooter were waiting for Dok the moment he stepped out of the office. These were not only his sons, but his security. They were little kids when he first went away, now they were full grown men, seasoned and raised in the streets. They’d become advanced in the art of Guerilla Warfare from his teachings and instructions. Both of them were very intelligent and highly lethal. They made their way to meet up with Gunz to discuss the issue with their connect.
Forty-five minutes later they were all sitting inside Gunz office at the back of the Koffee Shop. Gunz, AJ, DeeDee, Dok, Lil Rell and Scooter were all present. It wasn’t crowded in the least, given the size of Gunz office.
“Big Brah told me that at the time he had a sit down with the mothafucka, that blood was supposedly, on some way other shit, as far as his security goes.” He was looking at Dok, but he was talking to everybody. “We might wanna do a little more planning before we move.”
“Are we set with the transition?” Dok asked side stepping the suggestion.
“The transition is good to go.” Gunz replied as he lit another blunt of platinum cookies.
“What about the chemist? They good to go?” Dok asked.
A.J. spoke up, “they’ve been in the lab now for five days. Got it going like a nice little bakery.” The blunt that he was smoking was the size of a niggaz thumb.
“What about…” Dok started
“Distribution been ready. I set up a nice system. Shit gone go sweet. Y’all just watch and see.” DeeDee cut him off. Proud of his new plan.
The only ones who didn’t speak in the room were Lil Rell and Scooter. They were always told to observe ninety percent of the time and speak ten percent. Part of the ninety percent was spent was thinking. So, they just watched and listened.
“Gunz, I’ll tell you what, young brotha, I’m going to be focused a lot on building Elesia after we get everything aligned. So, why don’t you and your team sit this one out…” Dok wasn’t fucking with the cookies. It was pineapple Cush in his blunt. He took a pull. “My brotha, y’all have been through a lot lately. Me and the brothas will deal with Mr. Toure, and don’t worry we are very efficient and very convincing.”
“Brah, we can’t just sit back and let y’all deal wit blood by yourself. What if things get complicated?”
“Won’t be any complications!” Everyone looked to Lil Rell. They were shocked to hear the young man speak and amazed at the finality in his voice when he made the statement.
Dok looked at him. They maintained eye contact and Dok nodded his head. Lil Rell pulled out his iPhone and hit a button. The sound of his FaceTime was like some out of space shit. When the caller answered, Lil Rell held the phone up, so his face was visible. (They were only to speak Swahili)
“Habari Gani (How are you) little brotha?” the voice in the phone spoke.
"Habari Gani, wewe aku (I’m fine, how are you)." Lil Rell spoke with a big smile on his face. The face on the other end of the call smiled as well. "Dinners ready my brotha."
The smile on the other side vanished, "I don't understand the language you're speaking, little brotha."
"We we Utayari ni mfalme (are you ready for war)?" The smile that returned to Lil Pooh’s face was brighter than the first one.
"Ni Tayan! (I'm ready)" Pooh knew that Lil Rell hated being corrected but you had to iron out all the kinks for the outfit to be sharp.
"Asante (thank you)" Lil Rell told
him in voice that was a little strained.
"Sikitu (welcome)" Pooh was always ready for that action.
AJ and DeeDee wanted to know what was said. From the look on Lil Rell’s face, Gunz knew it didn’t matter. Whatever was said, somebody was about to die. He may not have been able to speak the language, but the look on Rell’s face was universal to killas everywhere.
“Brotha, if you’re good then we’re good.” Gunz took another pull on his blunt and then put it out.
**** N. D. ****
Milpitas, California
Officer Hedgecock had just finished the briefing of the new Task Force which consisted of officers from East Palo Alto and Menlo Park, San Mateo Sheriff’s Deputies, Santa Clara Sheriff’s Deputies and officers from here at the Milpitas office.
The briefing was good. Even though he was nervous, he’d held his composure and did an excellent job. The shit hat happened to the new guy, Horsely was sad. Before Hedgecock transferred over to Milpitas he had worked with Horsley briefly. He was a good guy as far as Hedgecock was concerned.
“So, do you think the tech guys can clean the disc up enough to give as a solid image?” Officer Peters walked up to Hedgecock with a cup of coffee in one hand and a massive Togo’s sandwich in the other.
“Lord knows, I surely hope so. We need a solid break right now. Hell, the assholes are way ahead of us on this.” Hedgecock walked over to the 85” flat screen that was paused on the suspect from Horsely’s murder.
“We wouldn’t be as far along as we are if it wasn’t for you.” Peters wasn’t a kiss ass. He was just stating a fact.
Hedgecock loved the praise, yet and still it wasn’t enough “We need to get more, Peters, before another one of us dies.”
There was no reason for Peters to respond. They both shared the same sentiments. The looks on their faces was proof of the unspoken worry and fear in the heart of all law enforcement throughout the Bay Area.
There was a commotion outside in the hallway. Both officers walked to the doorway to see what was going on. What they saw was all officers worst nightmare. Federal agents were coming down the hallway, which meant they were taking over the case. Peters looked at Hedgecock to gage his response. A bit lip, fire red face and two balled fists was what he saw.
Chief Vieira was storming down the hallway with the agents. It was clear that the Chief was pissed off as well. Hers was the face of someone doing something that they didn’t want to do, but she had no choice about it.
“Officer Hedgecock, these are agents Wendell Roberson and Jose Gayton of our great local FBI.” Her big breast swelled as she took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, I can’t stop them so don’t ask, I’ve been on the phone all day trying to. However, they’re not here to steal the show. Or so they say. They’re here to lend a hand.”
Hedgecock looked at agent Gayton first. He was 5’2” maybe 130lbs with a bald head. He was Mexican. Hedgecock thought two things, first, how the hell did a Mexican get a name like Gayton? Second, he looked more like a weasel gangbanger then a cop. Next, he looked at Roberson who offered his hand to shake. He was a 5’10” 245lbs, fat, bald headed black man. He too looked like a weasel.
“I’ll let you guys work your testosterone levels out and see who’s bigger or whatever you gotta do to get an understanding. But, we need to see some results. She turned to leave, and everybody looked mighty hard at her big, white ass as it bounced down the hall. Once the Chief and her nice ass was out of view, they ducked back into the conference room to get acquainted.
“You two don’t look like cops to me. If you don’t mind me saying.” Hedgecock had to get that off his mind.
“We didn’t start off as cops that’s fa’sho” Agent Roberson’s comments caused he and Gayton to laugh.
“We’re part of a special unit called The Snitch Crime Unit.... "
Hedgecock interrupted him “Come on, guy, let’s be for real.”
Neither Roberson nor Gayton was laughing or smiling. It didn’t take Hedgecock long to get the hint.
The government became fed up seeing criminals constantly beat the system, it grew desperate to find a solution. Although paid informants and snitches were leading to numerous arrests, some high paid, high powered attorney almost always got the criminals off. Most often, they would use the defense tactic saying the witness or (the snitch) was only saying what they were supposed to say in order to get themselves out of trouble. In a jury trial this almost always worked.
A solution to this problem was needed and the SCU was formed. Roberson was the first test subject. Back in 2002, he had been arrested in Hayward for eight robberies and an attempted murder. He snitched on his co-defendant who was sent to prison for nine years. The way the program works once a subject snitched on someone, their record is wiped clean, courtesy of the government.
Next, they were given training and then a badge. To date, the unit turned to be more than just crooks. They were crooks trained to be officers.
Somewhere during this revelation Hedgecock found a chair and sat in it. There was no way he would’ve ever believed the story he was told had it come out of anyone else’s mouth besides the fed himself. Shit! He still didn’t believe it, but he knew it was true.
“So, I hear you guys have had something of a breakthrough of sorts.” Gayton spoke up for the first time. He was an Ex-Norteno drop out turned snitch. He’d told on so many people the SCU was very proud that they recruited him.
“Yeah, the night of the murder the activity control monitors malfunctioned. We believe the suspect tampered with the system.” Hedgecock got up and walked to retrieve the remote control off the DVD player. “One of the park rangers was able to get one of the monitors back up in time to catch this.”
The screen came to life. The screams and pleading of Horsely moments before he died relayed his level of fear. With his arms presumably handcuffed behind his back, he flapped around like a beached whale trying to get the vacuum hose out of his ass. The perpetrator stood by lighting the side of the Shop Vac with what appeared to be a portable acetenyl torch.
The footage was heart breaking. Watching a grown man so engrossed in fear, scream and cry like a child having nightmares of the Boogey Man. The footage was very dark. Hedgecock informed them that, that particular night was a rare moonless night. Even so, agent Gayton knew someone who could help out with the video. He thought of a snitch form San Francisco, Russ Coleman, he could help. The SCU had people just about everywhere. The unit had been going for almost fifteen years now and had come a long way.
“You mind if I get a copy of this? I know somebody that might be able to do something with it.” He asked Hedgecock hoping there wouldn’t be a problem.
“You bet. As I’ve said we need all the help we can get.” These guys didn’t seem so bad to Hedgecock. Maybe having the help of the feds would turn out to be a good thing.
The other side of Milpitas
The assortment of aromas mixed and sailed through the air creating a sea of delicious temptations and indulgences. As it was close to closing, most of the hungry patrons had already left full and satisfied with smiles on their faces. The lingering aroma of their meals were the only evidence of their prior existence.
Samori Toure sat in his office going over some books. A glass of Louis the XVIII sat half full on the desk while a lit Cuban sat burning in the ashtray. He could see every inch of his restaurant via the video cameras. This was his nightly routine of course the books he was going over had nothing to do with the restaurant. He could care less if it made one penny. Mr. Toure was satisfied with his chunk of the American Dream. Much like his ancestors of this country, he was getting rich off of the blood, sweat, and tears of others. He was making a fortune off of the backs of Blacks.
Being that his African heritage was linked to the Mandingo tribe, he saw himself as being above the African Americans who would sell their souls for the price of the dollar. They were Akata (cotton pickers) like the village cats of Africa whom he would trample and kick with hi
s sandal as they scattered and scurried away.
A knock on the open door was followed by the head of security sticking his head inside.
“We have company, my brotha.” His words drew Samori’s attention to his video monitors mounted on the wall.
Three black Suburbans were pulling into the parking lot. Samri Toure wasn’t concerned in the least bit. His security was unmatched by the lazy -undisciplined Americans. Nevertheless, he didn’t like people dropping in unannounced nor did he like interruptions in his daily schedule.
“Come, Suja. Let us see what this is.” He told his security as he stood up from his desk and headed toward the front.
Once the Suburbans came to a stop, all of the men stepped out of the vehicles at the same time. This wasn’t some movie or some urban novel. This was real life and they were real Guerillas. Nobody opened the door since nobody likes little “Yes Men.” These were all stone-cold, trained, killers. There was a chain of command, but there were no Big I’s and little U’s. This was a one-man nuke. A closed iron fist. Dok gave the orders but he could be given an order as well.
The night was chilly but there was no breeze. Dok looked for the moon but his eyes were only rewarded with the shadows of clouds blocking the moon. The door of the restaurant opened as they reached the front. Even if Dok hadn’t studied the face of the man he was there to meet, his presence betrayed him.
“Mr. Samori Toure, my name is Dok Holliday. I am aware that you knew my late brotha, T’Rida and you know my little brotha, Voorheeze, as well. I think we have some things to discuss.” He directed his comment at the man whom he knew was Samori Toure.
The man spoke to his two subjects briefly in a language foreign to Dok. The one on his left said something back with a look of alarm on his face. The sharp tongue of Toure silenced any doubt that whatever it was that he said would be carried out.