Loyalty and Deceit

by Beanie Sigel

  At 9 o’clock in the morning, Jihad placed a small bag containing one hundred and four thousand dollars into the secret compartment in the rear of the SUV. He handed the keys to Haitian who was making a mental note to remove four thousand dollars of the money for himself.

  “That’s the money for four bricks,” Jihad said in a low voice while maintaining eye contact with Haitian.

  “Make sure you keep your seat belt on, take the same exact route you’ve been taking, and don’t do more than ten miles over the speed limit.”

  “I know, I know.” Why in the hell do this nigga keep tellin’ me the same damn thing every time I make this fuckin’ trip? Haitian thought. He opened the driver’s door and began to climb in when Jihad grabbed his arm, stopping him.

  “And, don’t smoke no fucking weed while you’re driving.”

  “Come on, man. I know.”

  “Yeah, aaight.” He smacked his lips, turned around and walked to his car. The Navigator’s engine came to life and pulled off.

  Haitian made it to Powerful’s apartment with the bag containing all of the money, minus the four thousand he pocketed for himself. He rang the doorbell.

  Within a few seconds Powerful opened the door and waved his hand gesturing Haitian to enter.

  “Back so soon, cowboy?”

  “You already know.”

  “You said you were comin’ for four, right?” He removed the cell phone from the pocket of his Polo sweatpants when Haitian stopped him.

  “Well, P...that’s what I wanted to holla at you about.” He pushed the words out.

  Powerful lowered the phone. “What’s poppin?”

  “I’m sayin’,” Haitian nervously shifted from one foot to the other. “Even though other people have been trying to get me to buy from them, I still want to cop from you.”

  “Nigga, get to the point,” Powerful spat impatiently. “What’s good?”

  “Aaight.” He took a deep breath and allowed the words to fall out. “If you front me four bricks on top of the four I’m buying, I figured it would save me a lot of time driving back and forth. You know your money will be good.” He stopped when he noticed that his request began to sound more like a plea. Taking a deep breath, he waited for a reply.

  “First of all, I never know if my money’s good until it’s in my hands. Second, if you want me to give you something on consignment, you gon’ stop frontin’ like you coppin’ for yourself and tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Aaight, man. I’ma keep it stack with you. My man, T-Lova is running our crew. We put together a plan to expand our operation to Elmira and Buffalo. But the only way we can do it is if we got more coke. That’s where you come in, feel me?”

  “Tell me more about ya man, T-Lova.”

  “His real name is Terry and his right hand man’s name is Jihad. He...I mean we, got crack houses spread throughout the ‘Cuse...” Haitian spilled his guts about Terry. Of course, he added a couple of lies just to spice things up a little bit.

  After hearing everything he had to say, Powerful thought about the request. He was paying twenty-thousand per kilo. By charging twenty-five, he made five thousand in profit off of every kilo he sold. Today alone, he would receive twenty thousand dollars in profit from his transaction with Haitian. “Aaight, this is what I can do. I can front you two ki’s.” He observed Haitian’s eyes widen with excitement, and continued, “but I’m gonna have to charge you twenty seven G’s a piece.”

  “Damn, that’s fifty four thousand,” Haitian mumbled.

  “You mutha fuckin’ right that’s fifty four thousand! And you got three weeks to come see me or I’m comin’ to see you and your boys. Now do you want it, or not?”

  “Yeah, I want ‘em.”

  “No problem.” Powerful grabbed his phone again and sent out a text. He then emptied the money from Haitian’s bag onto the table and did his usual thumb through. “Hundred G’s?”

  “It’s all there.” Haitian answered.

  Powerful never counted the money in front of a person once they confirmed the amount. He always felt that was disrespectful. Once he was alone, every bill was counted and inspected. The doorbell rang. Powerful got up from the table and walked over. A moment later, he returned with a backpack. He pulled out six kilos and placed them into the bag that once contained the money.

  Although he felt as if his heart was going to jump out of his chest, he did his best to remain calm as Powerful handed the bag to him. Haitian grabbed the bag, stood, and Powerful walked him to the door.

  “I got you, kid.” He gave Powerful a reassuring look as he walked through the threshold and out into the hallway.

  “Yo, Haitian!”

  He turned around and saw Powerful standing in the doorway. “Wassup?”

  “You ain’t been gone long enough to forget how I get down, have you?”

  Haitian’s throat thickened. He fought to swallow before he could answer. “Nah, P, I ain’t forget how you get down.” He nearly tripped over his feet as he spoke while walking backwards.

  “No more than three weeks.” Powerful warned with a chuckle, then closed the door.

  I know it’s my time to shine, Haitian thought as he cruised down the expressway listening to Push It To The Limit by Rick Ross. I went right in there and talked that nigga into fronting me two bricks. These niggas gon’ wish they gave me more respect when I blow past them. When I get myself up to ten bricks I can’t wait to see how they jump off T-Lova’s dick and hop right on mine’s! Matter of fact, I’m gon’ be the one supplying T-Lova! He beamed at the thought.

  Getting off at the exit, he followed the normal protocol by sending Jihad a text message, letting him know that he would be meeting him at the house in thirty minutes. He was really closer to twenty minutes away, but he had to make a detour to his apartment in order to drop off his two kilos.

  Haitian pulled up in front of his apartment. His eyes darted around nervously. He knew that it was unlikely anyone was watching him, however, he was jittery none-the-less. He turned the SUV off, crawled over the second row of seats to the rear and removed his two kilos from the stash box. Stuffing them inside his jacket, he exited through the rear door and hurried to his apartment. With one hand securing the drugs close to him, he used his other to dig into his pants pocket and pull out his keys.

  Boom!

  The keys fell from Haitian’s hand. He struggled to hold his urine. With eyes as big as marbles and filled with fright, he spun around. They rapidly narrowed to angry slits once he locked in on the culprit of the jarring noise. It was his neighbor’s bad ass son, Tye-Tye. He was nine years old, but hood raised and terrible beyond his years.

  “Tye-Tye, stop hitting my house with ya goddamn balls. If you break my window, I’ma kick you in ya stomach!”

  “My bad, Smokey. I’m learnin’ how to throw,” the boy said with a devilish grin. “You’ll throw it back to me?”

  “Hell no! Come get your own dirty ass ball.” He bent over to retrieve his keys. “And my name ain’t Smokey!”

  In disgust, Tye-Tye kicked at an imaginary rock on the ground. “Bitch ass nigga,” he mumbled under his breath while walking towards Haitian’s apartment to get his ball.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Huh? Oh. I said...That figures.”

  “No, you didn’t. I’m tellin’ yo mamma you cursed at me!”

  “Snitches get stitches around here, Smokey!”

  Frustrated with the little neighborhood menace, he just shook his head, unlocked his door, and went inside his apartment.

  Once inside, he removed the coke. It seemed almost unreal. He went from buying two ounces to having seventy two ounces in one day. He paced around the apartment, desperately searching for a secure hiding place. He settled on burying them under a pile of dirty clothes in his closet.

  His nerves were working overtime. He needed to calm them. Haitian sat down on his living room couch. With his mind running in ten different directions, he pulled out a bag of
Kush, a Backwood cigar, and rolled the weed up. He lit it up and took a deep pull. The smoke did its job in relaxing him.

  “Shit.” Haitian reluctantly got up with the blunt still in his hand. He had less than ten minutes to return the Navigator to Terry and Jihad. Leaving his house, he cursed the rain that had just begun to descend from the sky.

  Haitian guided the SUV through traffic while continuing to smoke. His mind constantly reverted back to the drugs he had hidden in his home. He now had a new mission: to drop Terry off his truck and coke, then get back to his place, so he could begin his process of breaking down, cooking, and packaging his product.

  He had become so consumed in his thoughts of becoming the big dog in his city that he failed to observe the blue and white patrol car parked in an empty lot facing the oncoming traffic.

  Noticing the dense cloud of smoke that lingered inside of the vehicle, along with the fact that the driver was not wearing a safety belt, the officer quickly pulled out of the lot and activated his flashing lights, easily catching up to the big SUV.

  The brightness of the dancing lights coupled with the high pitched shrill of the siren, caught Haitian’s attention. Seemingly out of instinct, he glanced in the rear view mirror while simultaneously reaching over his shoulder to fasten his safety belt. After realizing that the half smoked blunt was still dangling between his lips, he leaned forward to snuff it out in the ashtray, then slightly lowered all four windows in an attempt to remove the pungent odor. The sudden increase in his heart rate caused his forehead to glaze with sweat.

  “Fuck!” Haitian cursed himself for not taking Jihad’s advice against smoking while transporting the drugs. He never told Terry, but his driver’s license was suspended for failure to pay child support.

  There was no way he could pull over. He was five blocks away from the projects. If he could just get a one block lead, he would have a chance to jump out and disappear into the confines of the housing structure.

  Without giving it a second thought, Haitian mashed his foot on the gas pedal. The officer’s car accelerated as well, tightening the gap between the two. Haitian careened in, out and around traffic, wishing that he was in a Mustang.

  Surprisingly, he began to increase the distance between him and the pursuing officer. He disregarded all traffic lights and warning signs.

  The officer was forced to exercise a little more caution. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, he saw that another officer had joined in on the chase. He had to get out of the truck before more cops arrived. It was all or nothing.

  Keeping his foot firmly pressed on the gas pedal, Haitian barreled through a red light, challenging the heavy intersecting traffic. The oncoming cars blared their horns, skidded out of control, violently collided into other cars, and some came to screeching halts. Haitian made it through successfully, yet the pursuing police were having a difficult time making it through the massive pile up.

  Haitian made a hard right onto West Onondoga Street. He could still hear the police sirens, but no longer saw the patrol cars behind him. A weary smile made its way onto his face.

  Continuing to push the SUV to its limits, he raced down the side street. Knowing that the projects were less than a block away, he knew what he had to do. He eased off the gas pedal just enough to hit the final corner. As he began the turn, his eyes froze with trepidation.

  He recognized a young lady with two kids, one child holding on to her hand and the other in a stroller, crossing the street. The impact occurred.

  The enormous Navigator bulled the family over like a bowling ball crashing into pins. The lady and the child holding her hand, were thrown into the air as if they weighed nothing. The true magnitude of the collision became apparent when their fragile bodies slammed into the unforgiving concrete fifteen feet away. The baby stroller flew over the hood, past the windshield, ejecting the infant, whirling her through the air.

  Haitian lost control of the vehicle, causing it to slam head on into a utility pole. The driver’s airbag deployed, smashing into his face. Haitian saw a bright flash of light, then everything went dark.

  “Yo, where the fuck is Haitian?” Terry asked Jihad. The mounting frustration was evident in his voice.

  “I don’t know, T. He texted me saying he’d be here within thirty minutes. That was an hour ago.”

  “Call his phone and see if that clown answers.”

  Jihad picked up his iPhone and dialed Haitian’s number while casually strolling through the living room. After four rings his voice mail was activated. The phone remained next to Jihad’s ear, but what appeared on TV had completely captured his attention. His mouth fell open and he barely blinked.

  “T, come here, sun. Hurry up!” Jihad screamed, putting the phone away.

  “Wassup?” Terry walked into the room and stopped in his tracks. His eyes were fixated on the TV showing news footage of a wrecked Navigator with orange cones and yellow crime scene tape stretching across the area of the incident. “Turn that shit up.”

  Jihad stepped forward and increased the volume. The reporter’s voice came to life. “...the victims of this horrible accident haven’t been named, as of yet. However, from what we’ve been able to gather, the woman was a twenty-seven year old mother of two. The mother and her infant daughter have been pronounced dead, and the seven-year old has been rushed to an area hospital where she is clinging on to dear life.

  The driver of the SUV has been identified as twenty eight year old, Deshaun Obudalu. The suspect was involved in a brazen high speed chase which has resulted in this unthinkable tragedy. Please stay tuned as we will continue to update you on this breaking news. Reporting live, I’m Michael Whitby of Channel Thirteen News.”

  Terry paced back and forth in an effort to control his vexation.

  Jihad snatched up a Dutch Master from the coffee table and began cracking it open. “Whatever’s our next step, we have to make sure it counts. We don’t know how bad this is really going to hurt us.” He spoke without taking his eyes off the Dutch he was rolling.

  “I know they found that work. The truck ain’t gonna come back to us, but the police is going to be asking a lot of questions, and I’m not sure if Haitian’s strong enough to hold back the answers. We’re going to have to fall back until we find out what happens...”

  CHAPTER 4

  “I don’t know who this bitch ass nigga think he’s playin’ with,” Powerful growled after calling Haitian for what seemed like the hundredth time. It had been three weeks since he fronted Haitian two kilos of cocaine. He hadn’t heard from Haitian since he left his house, a clear violation. The last thing he was going to allow was Haitian to run off with his drugs.

  Powerful was a man of action. He’d been getting his hands dirty his entire life, so his next move was a no brainer. He placed a few phone calls and within a half hour two of his most trusted goons were at his house, prepared to do whatever he asked of them. Powerful informed them about his situation as well as his plans. He armed each man with a gun. Just as quickly as they came, they were leaving out, piling into the luxurious interior of Powerful’s midnight-blue Mercedes GL 550.

  The ride from Brooklyn to Syracuse took less than five hours. Powerful knew that Haitian lived and hustled on the west side of the city. He drove around and asked people in the hood if they knew him. It didn’t take long before he found out what Haitian had gotten himself into. Luckily, Terry didn’t go down with him. He also found out that Terry had a restaurant on South Avenue. The trio didn’t hesitate to make their way to his place of business.

  Upon entering Impressions, they were greeted with a warm smile by Terry’s mother. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Would you like to dine in, or place an order to go?”

  “Um, actually, I just came back in town and I was trying to get in touch with my old friend. His name is T-Lova,” Powerful explained.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll get Terry on the phone for you under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

&
nbsp; “That the three of you sit down and let me put some food in your stomachs. I can tell that ya’ll ain’t have no decent meal in a long time. You boys today think you can live off fast food, but you’re wrong...come on over here.” Without waiting for a reply she began walking towards the dining area.

  Powerful and his men had little choice but to follow as she led them to a table. Once seated, they picked up menus.

  “Now all of this food is freshly prepared, and it’s good for you,” Anita told them in her natural, motherly tone. “I’ma send a waitress over to take your order while I try to get Terry on the phone.” Again, she scurried off before anyone at the table was able to respond.

  The three looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and began scanning their options. The waitress came with refreshments, they placed their orders, and within a relatively short amount of time they were served.

  While they were enjoying their meals, Anita walked over holding her phone.

  “I finally got a hold of Terry. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell him who you were because I didn’t get your name.”

  Powerful wiped his mouth with a napkin and accepted the phone. “Thank you,” was his only response. He then spoke into the phone, “Hello?”

  “Wassup, who’s this?” Terry asked.

  “This is Powerful, from Brooklyn.”

  “Oh, what’s good?” He answered calmly, but deep down he wanted to know why in the hell was this dude in his restaurant looking for him.

  “Not a whole lot, my man. Listen, I need to holla at you.”