by Dorian Sykes
“I’ma see y’all when y’all get back,” said Wink.
“A’ight, my nigga,” said Willie.
“Y’all just gon’ take my liquor, huh? Nah, it’s cool, go ahead.” Wink turned the key and waited for them to cross the street. He pulled the neck shift down to drive and peeled away from the curb.
He drove past his mom’s house, but her car wasn’t in the driveway. Wink figured her and Gary were probably out somewhere, still celebrating their engagement. Wink hadn’t seen his mom smile so much in his whole life. Thinking about his mom being happy, it brought a closed smile to his face.
At least somebody’s happy, Wink thought. He wouldn’t be happy until Krazy was home where he was supposed to be, and until he buried the hatchet with his father.
Wink drove to his apartment so he could kick back and try to relax. It had been a long, stressful day. He kicked his shoes off at the door and allowed his toes to sink into the plush, cream-colored wall-to-wall carpet. It felt like a sponge massaging the arches of his feet as he walked over to the phone sitting on the small table in his living room. The red light on his answering machine was blinking, so he pushed the message button.
You have two messages. Beep!
“Wayne, it’s Mom, I was just calling to see if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight. I really miss you being home. You give me a call. Love you. Bye.”
Beep!
“Hello, Mr. Stewart. This is Charmene Wilson. I have some good news. I was able to locate the prisoner you inquired about.”
Wink’s stomach dropped to the floor. That was the call he’d been waiting on for two weeks. He rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a pen and a yellow sticky pad, and wrote down the information: Yusuf Al-min, United States Penitentiary Leavenworth, Kansas.
Wink pushed the END button and walked slowly around to the sofa and sat down. He looked at the sticky pad. His dad had changed his name. No wonder he couldn’t find him.
“Yusuf Al-min.” Wink struggled to pronounce the name. He couldn’t believe it. The man who he heard so many war stories about had flipped Muslim.
Chapter Twenty-six
A thousand butterflies danced around in Wink’s stomach as he rode in the back of a cab down some rural road in Leavenworth, Kansas. His stomach had been playing tricks on him since he boarded the plane and took his seat. Wink hadn’t told anyone he was going to see his father in prison. Not his mom, Gary, his crew, no one. The only person who knew that he was coming was his father, and that’s because Wink had to fill out some visitation forms and mail them back to the prison.
Wink didn’t know what to expect when he got there. All he had was the lone picture he clipped from Gary’s old photo album, and the many legendary stories niggas would tell from time to time about Wayne, AKA Gunz. Wink kept telling himself not to expect anything. How could he when eighteen years were lost between them? Wayne, Sr. had never held his son, talked to him on the phone, saw him on a visit, nothing. Eighteen years gone by and not a card, picture, money order, birthday gift, shit!
Wink was getting angry the closer they drove to the prison. He wasn’t going to see his father to lash out and vent on him. He wasn’t going with a list of questions demanding satisfying answers, because answers alone could never satisfy the pain and hurt built up inside. Wink wasn’t sure of the reason he was going. Something in him needed to see his father face to face.
Wink took a deep breath and let out the frustration as the cab turned inside the complex. The stone sign out front read: USP LEAVENWORTH. The prison was situated in the middle of nowhere, and nowhere was exactly where it had been sitting for the past sixty-five years. Leavenworth was the third oldest USP in America, next to Lewisburg and Terre Haute.
Wink paid the cab driver, then stepped out into the sharp wind. It was dead winter, and the freeze was out and biting. Wink flipped his collar and shoved his hands deep inside the side pockets of his mink bomber. He regretted not wearing a heavier coat, but he wanted to be fly when his father saw him for the first time. Wink stomped the snow slush from the sole of his triple-black small-block Maury gators. He dusted the snowflakes from the shoulders of his mink, checked his reflection in the window, then pulled back the handle.
The prison lobby looked more like a hunting lodge with all the trophies and pictures dangling from the wooden walls.
Where the hell they got my daddy at? Wink thought as he approached the full-blooded hillbilly working the front desk.
“Visitation?” the freckle-faced worker asked with a strong accent.
“Yes. I’m here to visit Yusuf Al-min.”
“Your driver’s license.”
Wink handed the man his license and watched as he punched some keys into some aged computer.
Nasty mothafucka, Wink said to himself as he looked the man over. His hair hung over his ears, hair protruded from his chest and the back of his neck, where a dirt ring lined his collar. He looked like the first man God put on this earth, like a cracker straight out of the Caucasus mountains.
He finally handed Wink his license back, then pointed down a long hallway full of gates. “Down four gates and to your left.”
Wink felt like he was going to jail. Walking through all those gates, them slamming shut behind him, and the constant buzzing sent a chill down Wink’s spine. He wondered what kind of niggas the feds had hid in a place like that. Breaking out was out of the question with all the security checks jumping off around there. And so far, the only color Wink saw was white. Them crackers all probably went to school together and were related somehow, thought Wink.
He made it to the fourth gate and waited to be buzzed inside the visiting hall. Minutes later, the Yankee working inside control decided to buzz him in. Wink walked inside the massive visiting hall. Little kids were running around, some screaming. People stood in a line for pictures, others for the vending machine. And of course, you had those out there making moves.
Wink saw a young black guy, couldn’t have been no older than himself. He was over in the corner, trying to boof something up his ass while his girl kept an eye out. Wink caught an eyeful as he faced the section toward the back. A woman’s head was going up and down on some Mexican’s dick. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, niggas was still making it happen. This made Wink relax and think about his father. If those two crumb niggas were busting moves, he knew his pops was running the jail.
A female C.O. seated behind a desk waved him over. “Name, please.”
“Wayne Stewart, Jr.”
“Your visitor will be out shortly. Please take a seat in the second row.” The woman pointed to an empty row of hard plastic chairs bunched together on a steel bench.
The butterflies returned at the sight of a huge, light-skinned man wearing a kufi coming his way. It was his father, Wayne, Sr. Wink slowly stood up and faced the man he’d longed to meet all his life. His father hadn’t aged a day from the photo. His skin was clear, as were his eyes. His chest bulged from under the tan khaki shirt, and he smelled like some type of oil.
Wayne, Sr. pulled back a million-dollar smile and opened his arms. Wink gave him a brief hug. For that short moment, Wink felt something he had never before felt in his life except when hugging his mom. Love.
“Thanks for coming,” Wayne, Sr. said as he stood back and checked Wink out.
“I had to,” said Wink. He had to clear his throat because he was starting to get a little emotional.
“Let’s have a seat.” His father waved to the chairs, and they sat.
“Can I get you anything out of the vending machine?” asked Wink. He was so nervous he didn’t know what to do with himself. His hands were shaking, and the hairs on his body stood up.
“No, I’m okay. I’ll eat something when I get back to the block. That stuff’s bad for you anyway.”
There was an awkward moment of silence until Wayne, Sr. noticed the gold nugget bracelet dangling from Wink’s wrist. “Ah, man. That bracelet brings back so many memories. Who gave it to you, your mom?”
He leaned forward to inspect the diamonds. “The stones are still shining.”
“Nah, Gary gave it to me. He said that you’d want me to have it.”
The bright smile disappeared from Wayne, Sr.’s face at the sound of Gary’s name. He clenched his jaws, and Wink saw a flash of hate in his eyes.
“Alhumdullah,” said Wayne, Sr., then he took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. “So, you’re eighteen now.”
“Yeah, I’ll be nineteen in a couple more months.”
“Wayne, I know why you come all this way, and I’m willing to answer all the questions you may have. I owe you that much.”
“I mean, really, I just wanted to see you. For years, all my life I wanted to come visit you, but it was always a touchy subject ’round the house.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. I can tell by the mink and gators that your hustlin’. I’m not gon’ tell you a bunch of reasons why you shouldn’t. Just look around where I’ve been for the past eighteen years.”
“I’m not going to hustle forever.”
“At least you know that much. Man, I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. You look just like Hope. By the way, how is she doing?”
“She’s doing good. She and Gary are about to get married soon.”
“What?” yelled Wayne, Sr. That flash of hate appeared back in his eyes, but this time it stayed.
Wink didn’t understand why his dad was so bent out of shape. He hadn’t been with his mom in nearly twenty years.
“You mean to tell me she’s still foolin’ with that nigga?” snapped Wayne, Sr. He didn’t wait for Wink to answer. “Don’t you know he’s the reason I’m serving two life sentences? The reason why I’ve never been a part of your life. He’s the reason!”
Wink frowned out of sheer confusion. He had not a clue what his dad was talking about.
“I can’t believe this. How could Hope do this to me?” Wink’s dad had tears in his eyes.
“What are you talkin’ about?” asked Wink.
“What, you mom didn’t tell you? Gary testified against me and gave me all this time. He’s the reason I’m sittin’ in here with two life sentences.”
The news hit Wink like a ton of bricks. It was all starting to make sense why Gary only got five years and his dad got all day.
“Does my mom know?”
“Of course she knows. She was at my trial, pregnant with you, when Gary took the stand on me. All these years, you mean to tell me that she’s been dealing with that rat while I’m here with life.”
Wink didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything that he could say. He knew there was a reason he hated Gary when he was coming up.
“And you say that they’re getting married, huh?”
“They were getting married. That nigga ain’t marrying nothin’ except a casket,” Wink promised his father. He couldn’t wait to get back to Detroit so he could push Gary’s shit back. His mom would just have to be mad with him, because it was already sketched in stone. Gary had to die.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Wink thought about what his father had told him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the soft headrest so that not a tear would escape. He could feel the plane’s engine come to life as it roared and hummed in his ear. Wink promised his father that retribution would be paid for the dishonor bestowed upon him.
Wink couldn’t believe that his mother hadn’t told him the truth. And why was she marrying the very man who had buried his father alive?
If she wasn’t my mom, I’d blow her fucking brains out too, just ’cause she knew, Wink thought to himself as the plane began rumbling down the runway.
Wink opened his eyes reluctantly to look out his window. He sighed out of frustration, then leaned back on his seat and closed his eyes. Eighteen years later, and the truth finally found him. Wink felt bad for his father, sitting back there in those white folks’ prison, serving a natural life sentence, and for what? All because Gary couldn’t hold his own nuts when the pressure hit. Wink’s dad told him all about how they used to get money, how Gary was his stickman. They started off doing petty drug runs for an old head from their era. Back then, heroin ran the city with an iron fist, and only a few niggas actually had real connects with getting the shit. Wink’s dad wasn’t one of them, but he was a natural born hustla with green flowing through his veins, so when coke started making its impression, he made sure to have two hands in it. Wayne, Sr., was soon known as Gunz because he took every rival to war over the drug trade and won.
Just like every other kingpin, there was a rise and there was a fall. Gunz’s fall just so happened to be by the hands of his right-hand man. Gary got caught out of town, selling coke to an undercover agent, and instead of going and doing his number, he gave the time to Gunz. Gary told about all the murders Gunz committed on his way to the top. The feds gave Gary five years for snitching, and they roofed Gunz with two life sentences.
There was no way Gary or Wink’s mom could explain themselves or try to rationalize the situation. There was no way to clean it up, except with more blood—Gary’s blood. Wink fumed over the thought of Gary having the nerve to lay up around his mom for all these years, and then to top it off, the nigga had the balls to ask Wink to be his best man. Wink figured so much time had passed that his mom and Gary never thought he’d reach out to his father. They thought their secret was safely buried in USP Leavenworth, and that Wink could never find out.
Wink couldn’t wait to see that look of death he had seen in J-Bo’s eyes right before he killed him. He needed to see it in Gary’s eyes, that fear of knowing he was about to die. That was the only way to make it right.
Wink’s plane landed at the Detroit City Airport. He took a cab to his apartment so that he could take a shower and wash all that travel grime off. He had been in those woods for three days, visiting his father, trying to catch up on eighteen years of absence.
Wink stood under the steaming hot shower and let the tears go. Wink was hurting because there was nothing he could do to help his father’s situation. Over eighteen years, he had exhausted every last one of his appeals, so the court wasn’t an option. Basically, he was just waiting to die. Wink just wished that there was something he could do to help ease the pain. He promised his father that he wouldn’t forget about him and that as long as there was air in his lungs, he had him on anything he needed.
Wink turned the shower off and reached for his towel. He stood in front of the mirror, looking into his own bloodshot eyes. He could see the stress of the game taking its toll, and more so, he could see his father.
“You can live through me,” he said.
Wink threw on some clothes, grabbed his new Glock, and was out the door. He decided to get a head start on the plan he and his father had cooked up. Wink parked across the street up on 7 Mile. He hugged the side of his car while waiting on the busy traffic to clear up. The parking lot was empty as usual. Hardly no one ever shopped at the store except Wink and a few other dealers Fatts was supplying.
Wink entered the store and hurriedly locked the front door, and then casually walked down the middle aisle around the front counter. Wink didn’t see any signs of ole Fatts. He called out, “Fatts, you back here?”
Fatts was in the back room, sitting on one of the stools, hunched over the workstation, devouring his second lunch. His back was to the door, but he raised his head from the hoagie sandwich and waved Wink over. With a mouth full of salami, lettuce, onion, and tomato, he still managed to say, “Have a seat.”
Wink took a seat on the stool beside Fatts and turned sideways to face him. He stuck both hands inside the side pocket of his hoodie, clutching the handle of his Glock while watching Fatts wipe mayo from the side of his face onto the sleeve of his shirt.
“Where you been at? I thought you were coming yesterday to pick up. You had me worried for a minute, ’cause I called Gary and he said he hadn’t seen you either.”
“I took a trip,” said Wink, short and flat.
“Oh, yeah? Where’d you go?” Fatts took a gulp from his two-liter of Pepsi.
“To see my father.” Wink watched the lump form in Fatts’ throat. He nearly choked on the Pepsi.
“Your father? You mean... Gunz?” he stuttered.
“The one and only.”
Wink could tell by the way Fatts was fidgeting with the hoagie wrapper that he was nervous as shit and, without a doubt, wondering how much Gunz had told him. More so, he was wondering how his fat, stinkin’ ass was going to make it out of there alive.
“So, how’s he doing?” asked Fatts. He tried to stand up, but Wink pushed him back down by the shoulder.
“He’s doing two life sentences. How do you think he’s doing?”
Fatts’ heart started pounding through his chest, and his entire body began to sweat from his head to his toes. Wink came out of his hoodie with his Glock in hand. He slid off the stool while pointing the gun low at Fatts’ gut.
“He told me everything.”
“Wink, I swear it was all Gary. He brought me into their conspiracy. They were going to give me life,” pleaded Fatts.
“So, you traded my dad’s life for yours?”
“I didn’t want the shit to go down the way it did, but I’m telling you, it was all Gary. He put the feds on all of us.”
“I’m not hearing that shit, nigga.” Wink became so angry his dick got hard. He raised the gun to Fatts’ dome and said. “Nigga, you did just what you’re doing right now, lyin’ and snitchin’. All you niggas told on my dad, and all y’all gon’ die, starting with yo’ bitch ass.” Wink waited to see that look of death in Fatts’ eyes, the one a nigga wears on his face right before death seizes his ass.
Before Fatts could try and plead some furtherance of his rationale as to why he snitched, Wink let the 9 mm rain on his fat ass. The first shot hit him in the right-side temple, knocking him from the stool. As he fell sideways, Wink continued to let the nine-milly spit. Wink stood over Fatts’ lifeless body and squeezed the trigger repeatedly, even after he had emptied all seventeen shells. He was in a trance that only another killer could identify with.