by Beanie Sigel
The momentary silence seemed to last forever until Mack spoke up. “Fuck it. I’ma ride with you. Let’s do it.”
Terry called Jihad, and Mack called Shawn. They were both given instructions to come to Dynasty Rentals right away. Illegal business had never before been conducted or discussed there, but it was one of the only places that everyone would feel comfortable meeting.
Terry and Mack rehashed their plan while waiting for their guests. Within an hour Shawn and Jihad showed up together, which meant it was more than likely they had already discussed the possibilities of why the meeting was called, and devised a plan themselves.
Jihad opened the door and they cautiously entered the private office. There was no denying the tension that lingered in the air like a foul stench.
“What’s going on? Have a seat,” Terry offered.
“Nah. I think we’ll stand,” Jihad countered defiantly.
“I know what went down with you and Keith, but don’t come up in here like we got beef!” Mack spat and stood.
“I think we are beefin’!” Shawn erupted in a rage of his own.
“Nigga, who the fuck you talkin’ to? If I had a problem with you, I’d just blow your fuckin’ head off! Don’t none of you niggas want a problem with me!” Mack was unable to contain his anger.
“So, what’s up?” Jihad stood his ground, right hand close to his waist where a gun undoubtedly rested.
“Move your hand closer to your waist and we gon’ find out who’s the best,” Mack growled. His hand in close proximity to his gun as well.
“Listen, we all know what we can do. But that’s not why ya’ll was called down here,” Terry spoke up in an effort to diffuse the stand-off. “I’m losing too many of my niggas to this bullshit. We used to have to worry about the opposition knocking us off, now we got to worry about the ones closest to us. When I become weary of my own friends, that means something’s gotta change. I know ya’ll think we did some grimey shit. And, keepin’ it a stack, we think ya’ll did some snake shit. But the bottom line is I don’t know, and neither do ya’ll. So what I’m going to do is make myself believe that ya’ll wouldn’t cross us, and hopefully you two will do the same on our behalf.”
“What, we’re supposed to just put our thoughts to the side and act like everything’s perfect? Keep it real, my nigga.” Jihad stepped closer to the desk. “Shit has changed between us. We’re not what we used to be. We’ve drifted too far apart to get back to where we were.”
“You’re right, Jihad. We have different goals now. I’m more focused on building a legitimate empire. You’re still intent on controlling the streets. I’m definitely not knocking that. I’m...we’re just moving in different directions.”
“No matter what we’re going through, at the end of the day we still got love for ya’ll,” Mack spoke up, after allowing his temper to settle. “That’s why we called ya’ll down here. We decided to leave the streets alone, and focus on the legit business. Instead of shutting down the operation and leaving you to fend for yourself, we wanted to see if you wanted to take over.”
Jihad couldn’t believe what he heard. “I don’t believe you, and I don’t know if I can trust you.” He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest.
“Listen, my nigga,” Terry spoke in a direct tone, inadvertently showing a hint of impatience. “The only thing that changed is my game plan. This money ain’t make me soft. I’m still that nigga. If I wanted to go to war with you I would do so, and I won’t stop until blood is spilled – either yours or mine. But I know that all battles must be chosen wisely. I have the ability to choose my friends as well as my enemies. You’re not my enemy. We’re just on a different path. I’d rather for us to go our separate ways than for us to be out here trying to kill each other.”
“So, you want us to believe that you’re just going to give us the connect?” Shawn asked.
“No, I’m not giving you the connect,” Terry responded. “I’m gonna make sure you get ten bricks a month. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m also going to put a ten percent markup on the back end. This is how it’s going to be: Shawn, you have to drop the money off to Julio’s garage. Jihad, a few days later Julio will give you a call to come and pick up the work. During both the drop off and pick up both of you are to be alone. I’ll be calling you every month for my ten percent. If the money is ever off, or you deviate from the plan in any way, I’m shutting it down permanently. I want ya’ll to be mindful that this thing is bigger than me. Don’t allow greed to overpower your common sense. Your actions can impact your families.”
The power of Terry’s words jolted Jihad and Shawn. They understood that he was basically telling them that if anything goes awry, the Zeta Cartel would become involved. Nonetheless, the offer presented to them was accepted. All four men shook hands. Jihad and Shawn left the building knowing their lives were about to shift dramatically. The direction of that shift would depend on their decisions...
CHAPTER 31
As the weeks turned into months, Terry and Mack grew more comfortable in their decision to wash their hands of all illegal activity. Despite their retirement from the drug game, they kept a watchful eye on Jihad and Shawn. The stakes were simply too high. It was undeniable that they were smart hustlers, but they also had grimy tendencies. The relinquish of Terry and Mack’s position of power was calculated. It was not given to Jihad and Shawn out of fear, nor love. The acceptance of this power was received with the understanding that there could very well be ulterior motives. Defense was being played on both sides.
When Terry and Mack broke the news that they were officially one hundred percent legit to Marty he was elated. He and Vincent began teaching them more about the intricacies of stocks and investing, which was now an integral part of their new way of life.
Terry and Mack decided to celebrate by throwing a huge and extravagant all-white party, representing purity...a legitimate life. This party was touted as an epic event on radio and social media. To ensure that only the crem de la crem attended, admission was two hundred dollars and five thousand dollars for VIP seating. Everyone from sports stars to celebrities to corporate executives were set to attend.
After two months of constant promotion, the night of the party had come. The African American Art Museum on Seventh and Arch Street was the place worthy of such an ostentatious celebration. The fall night held a comfortable temperature and produced a wind just strong enough to cause a few colorful leaves to dance along the sidewalk. The full moon along with a few stars radiated as they stood out against the backdrop of the cloudless dark blue sky like LED lights. Minute by minute, luxury cars began to arrive. Well-dressed men and women of many nationalities pulled up near the entrance, handed their keys to the valet, and headed into the building.
Shortly after eleven thirty, two rare, luxurious and beautiful automobiles pulled up directly in front of the building. The first, a pewter colored Bentley Mulsanne Speed, Bentley’s flagship sedan. This opulent yacht on wheels dwarfed even the Mercedes S class sedan. The second car was a pearl white and silver Bugatti Veyron. A one point five million dollar, two hundred mile per hour work of art. After the automobiles came to a stop, two suited security guards left the sidewalk and placed four orange cones around the perimeters of the magnificent cars.
Mack opened the driver’s door of his Mulsanne and stepped out donning a white tailored Brunello Cucinelli sport jacket, white silk-cotton blend button down shirt and pants by Alexander Wang. A light brown leather John Varvatos belt and matching Santoni loafers rounded out his outfit.
At nearly the same time, Terry opened the door of his Bugatti and eased out. He wore a Canali white sport jacket and Tom Ford white button down shirt and slacks. His outfit was offset by a charcoal gray and black checkered Louis Vuiton belt and gray Louis Vuiton loafers.
Terry walked up to Mack and gave him a hug. At that moment an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment engulfed them. They were two men from two different states, yet their ambitions
were the same. Their loyalty towards one another helped to create an unbreakable bond. Both men had risen out of the bucket of despair and were now considered successful by anyone’s standards.
“We did it, bruh,” Mack said.
“Can you believe this shit?” Terry looked around at the museum with people steadily pulling up and making their way inside. “All of these people are here for us!”
“Yeah, we made it, T. We’re game changers now. It’s only one place to go from here...”
“That’s straight to the top!” Terry gave Mack a pound and they prepared for their grand entrance.
Once inside, the legendary DJ Green Lantern’s voice blared over the speakers as he saluted Terry and Mack. People greeted them with warm smiles and handshakes. Some were even recording and taking pictures with their phones.
All the well-dressed men and women complimented the upscale interior of the museum. One couple, in particular, stood off in a corner, casually bobbing to the music while simultaneously keeping visual surveillance.
“I spent my entire week’s salary on this outfit, plus two hundred dollars for that ticket. It damn well better be worth it,” Detective Todd said above the music, but just loud enough for his partner to hear.
“I’m a little upset about the two hundred dollars for the ticket, but not this outfit. This thing will be back on the rack at Macy’s first thing tomorrow,” Detective Latrice admitted.
Todd giggled. His smile instantly vanished as he tapped Latrice on the shoulder. She quickly zeroed in on the two reasons that she was there: Terry and Mack. They were responsible for large quantities of cocaine hitting the streets of Philadelphia, and multiple murders which came as a result of their drug operation. And there they were, smiling and shaking hands among the affluent without a care in the world. Latrice took a deep breath in an effort to subdue her rising anger.
Todd sensed his sister’s shift of emotion. “We have to act normal or we’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
They walked to the bar and placed an order for an apple and a dry Martini. The two detectives sat on stools sipping their drinks while keeping a casual eye on their persons of interest.
Terry and Mack made it to their VIP section where chilled bottles of Ace Of Spades and Louis the Thirteenth awaited. After a few drinks, their moods were amplified. Terry looked out into the crowd. An older woman wearing a long, beautiful white dress was slowly weaving through the throng of people, heading in his direction. In a flash he jumped up from his seat and hurried toward the lady. He embraced his mother, Anita, with a strong, lingering hug.
“Ma, I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to make it?”
“Shit, boy your bad ass used to lie to me at least three times a day. I can’t lie to you once?” Her bright smile was infectious. Terry leaned in for another hug. Anita took a small step back and scanned her son from head to toe. “Look at my baby. You’re so handsome. You were supposed to be a model. You look just like your father.”
“Thanks, Ma.” Terry began to blush.
“Speaking of your father, he stopped by the restaurant a few days ago. I told him that you were doing good and I mentioned your party. He begged me to ask you if he could come. I told him I’d ask you, but I didn’t bother because I knew what your answer would be.”
“Thanks for handling that, Ma. Our lives have been so much better without him in it. I lost my father when I was a kid. He chose heroin over us and he can never take that back.”
“I know baby.” Anita noticed the somber look on her son’s face and immediately regretted bringing Terry senior up. “Forget that, baby. This is your special night. There’s a lot of people here who wants to see you, so show them that perfect smile that you got from ya mamma. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“Okay, Ma,” Terry responded, giving her a warm smile.
“I’m going to get a glass of champagne. And, I saw a fine man over there by the bar...let’s see if Stella can get her groove back.”
“Behave yourself young lady!” Terry kissed his mother on the cheek and she weaved into the crowd.
Terry turned around to come face to face with Jihad and Shawn. They were both dressed for the occasion and holding bottles of Cliquot in their hands.
“Congratulations, T-Lova,” Jihad took a sip from his bottle.
“Thanks, yo.” Terry gave them both pounds. “I’m glad ya’ll came. How you been doing?”
“We’re doing good. As a matter of fact, I need to holla at you and Mack. I need you to increase our order by five bricks.” Jihad said just loud enough for Terry to hear over the music.
“I told you that the order won’t increase. You’re getting more than enough for you to stack some good paper...listen, this is not the time or the place to talk about that. Give me a ring tomorrow and...”
“Congratulations, Terry!” Vincent interrupted. “This turn out is absolutely amazing.”
Terry turned his back to Shawn and Jihad to face Vincent. It was evident that he didn’t want to introduce Vincent to them. “Thanks, Vincent.”
“See what happens when you stop chasing peanuts?”
“Yeah this is a much different ball game,” Terry responded. He could smell alcohol wafting from Vincent as he spoke.
“Oh yeah, I received a promising call today. I think it will be in your best interest to order an extra hundred barrels,” Vincent looked Terry in the eyes and patted him on the shoulder. “You guys are making more money than the president. Welcome to the major leagues.”
Jihad was inebriated but his hearing was crisp. He picked up on the bulk of the conversation between Terry and the elegantly dressed white man.
“Where’s Marty?” Terry inquired, changing the subject.
“He’s over there, talking to Mack.” Vincent pointed a tipsy finger towards the VIP section. He looked bewildered after following his own index finger and noticing that the VIP section was empty. “I could have sworn”
Marty, who was accompanied by Mack, placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “How are you guys doing?”
“We’re great!” Vincent exclaimed. “I was just telling Terry that he should seriously consider purchasing more—-”
Unlike Vincent, Marty was completely sober. He quickly honed in on the two men who were within earshot. He had never seen them before. “I’m sure Terry would rather discuss that matter in a more private setting,” Marty interjected. “Terry, it appears these two young men are waiting to speak with you.” He gestured toward Shawn and Jihad. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. Congratulations on this wonderful event.” After shaking Terry’s hand, he escorted Vincent away.
“Who was that?” Jihad’s thoughts manifested into words before he could catch himself.
“Just a couple of friends,” Mack answered dismissively.
“Sounds like they’re more than just friends to me.” Jihad paused to take a swig of alcohol from his bottle. “I just asked T-Lova to increase our order and before I knew it, El Hefe comes up telling him to increase his barrels order.”
Mack quickly put two and two together, which caused him to laugh.
“That dude mentioned barrels. It’s only one thing that’s coming in by the barrels,” Jihad continued.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Terry asked. He knew Jihad’s answer would amuse them.
“Nigga, he’s talking about heroin! Ya’ll gettin’ at that real paper, knowing we’d be satisfied with the scraps.”
Both Terry and Mack laughed in their faces. Their nonchalant attitudes worked with the alcohol to anger Jihad.
“Ya’ll laughin’, but you know I’m right. Wassup? You gon’ put a nigga on, or keep me as the low man on the totem pole?” The question was posed to Terry.
“Listen, Jihad,” Terry spoke above the music so that he could be heard clearly. “We’re one hundred percent legit, cannon. He was talking about a legal investment. We invest in commodities.”
“Damn, you can look me straight in my ey
es and lie to me now?” Jihad said, chuckling. “I guess it’s official; I really don’t know you anymore.”
“I guess you never knew me, ‘cuz if you did, for one, you’d know that I don’t fuck with heroin. And for two, you’d know the only mutha fuckas I gotta lie to is the cops and the judge!”
Mack noticed that Terry was getting agitated and a few heads were turning in their direction. “Man, we’re all out of pocket for even discussing this type of shit right now. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves. What Terry told you is true. It don’t matter if you believe him or not. It is what it is. Now if ya’ll want to discuss this some more, cool. But definitely not here and not now. Ya’ll can either enjoy the rest of the evening or get the fuck out!” With that said, Mack and Terry left Jihad and Shawn standing alone.
“Come on, let’s get the fuck outta here,” Shawn tapped Jihad’s arm as he turned to walk away.
Jihad jerked his arm away as if Shawn’s hand was contaminated. “Now you got a mouth? You ain’t have nothin’ to say while both of them niggas was spinnin’ me!”
“I ain’t say nothin’ because maybe they wasn’t lyin’.”
Jihad suppressed a giggle as he took a swig from his bottle. “Yo, you green as a fuckin’ pool table. I don’t know why I snatched you from Mack. I should have handled this shit myself.” Jihad spun off on Shawn using his large frame to part the crowd of partygoers. He headed directly towards the door. Shawn stood in place amazed at what the alcohol caused Jihad to confess. He thought back to the moment they became allies, during the plane trip from Miami. Jihad deceived him, causing him to be at odds with Mack. But the game wasn’t over yet.
“Did you get that?” Detective Todd asked.
“Every second of it,” Detective Latrice responded while discretely tucking her iPhone back into her clutch.
“Whoever those guys are, the conversation didn’t seem casual.”
“I agree. We have to find out who they are. And those white men as well.” The detectives finished their drinks and departed...