The California Saga

by Chunichi

  Werp! Werp!

  No sooner than I thought I was safe from danger, I heard sirens behind me. “Gotdamn!” I said to no one in particular. I pulled over and waited for the officer to come to the car. I watched from my side- and rearview mirrors as he walked up. Then I rolled down my window.

  “License and registration please.”

  “Can I ask why you pulled me over?” I asked as I gave the officer the information he’d asked for.

  “I’ve been following you for some time. I got behind you after you pulled out of the shopping center on Church Street. You were swerving. Have you been drinking today, sir?”

  “Yeah, right.” I laughed. I knew everything this cop was saying was bullshit. He just needed a reason to pull me over.

  “Well, you don’t seem drunk, and I don’t smell any alcohol, but let me run your license. If everything comes back okay, I’ll send you off with a warning.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, just trying to cooperate. It’s when cats act all nervous or aggressive that cops harass their ass even more. I waited and waited for the officer to come back.

  After about five minutes he walked back to the car. He had his right hand on his cuffs. After seeing that, I already knew what time it was.

  “Could you step out of the car please?”

  That was my confirmation. This nigga was about to take me to jail. “What am I being arrested for?” I asked as I stepped out of the car.

  “Driving on a suspended license?”

  “What?” I asked, knowing what this nigga was saying couldn’t be true.

  “You had a ticket a few months back that you never paid. It resulted in your license being suspended.”

  “Nah, man. I paid that,” I explained. “I got the receipt in my wallet.”

  “Save the excuses for the magistrate, man. Watch your head.” The officer put me in the backseat of his car.

  I was pissed off as I took a quick ride down the street and around the corner to Norfolk City jail. This was truly some bullshit. I had paid that damn ticket and even had the receipt to prove it, and I still was going to jail on a damn suspended license.

  When we drove through the gates, the officer escorted me inside the jail and sat me in the holding tank. I sat there patiently as I waited to speak to the magistrate. I shook my head in disgust as I looked at the drunk that sat beside me covered in vomit and piss. Then I glanced over at the prostitute that sat on the bench across from me, smacking on her gum like it was the last piece of Bubblicious on earth. She stared me in the face, constantly giving me the eye. I watched as the people who were getting released walked past me and out the back door. I could only wish I was in their shoes.

  “Terrell Johnson,” an officer called out to me.

  “Yes.”

  “Right this way, man.”

  I followed the officer to fingerprinting. Five minutes later my picture had been taken, and I was done with fingerprinting.

  I had to see the magistrate next. As I sat waiting on him, I could see his office from the window. Through the crack of the door, I could see some fine-ass chick standing, her hair pulled up in a curly ponytail. She had that good hair, the kind that curled up when it got wet. She was dressed in D&G jeans that was tight to death and gripped her plump ass just right.

  Minutes later, she was no longer in sight, and the magistrate was walking into the room. As soon as he was settled in front of me, I explained my situation. I told him that I’d paid my ticket and had the receipt to prove it. Come to find out, the reason my shit was suspended was because, after I paid the ticket to the court clerk, I was supposed to take the receipt to DMV and get my license reinstated. Lucky for me, the magistrate had mercy, and he let me out on a personal release bond, where no bondsman was needed, just my signature saying I will appear in court.

  Thirty minutes later, I was one of those people getting released that I’d admired earlier.

  I sat outside the precinct waiting on a cab so I could go pick my car up from the pound. Just my luck, the same chick I’d seen earlier came strolling out the precinct door.

  “Hey, beautiful.” I couldn’t let her pass by without saying a word.

  “What’s up?”

  “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

  “Handling business. But I’m sure I could guess what a thug like you is doing in a place like this. Your second home, I bet.”

  That bitch had just gone from beautiful to beast. At that time I realized what they said about a person being pretty until they open their mouth was true.

  “You know what, ma . . . I’m not gonna even entertain that bullshit. You have a nice day.” I walked away when I noticed my cab had arrived.

  Chapter 11

  “Always on the Grind”

  Sasha

  I’d managed to lay low and lived to see another two weeks. Eager to get on my grind, I called Diablo up to see if he was ready for me to work.

  Like clockwork, his package had arrived, and he had work for me. I wasted no time dropping my kids off at my parents’ house, kissing them good-bye, and hopping on the interstate and heading back to Atlanta.

  After an hour of driving, I arrived at Crossroads Bar and Grill, Diablo’s newly opened sports bar. Although he wasn’t open for business when I arrived, I walked in to see a pretty busy atmosphere. Knowing I was wanted on the streets, I was a little paranoid when walking in.

  I immediately located Diablo, and we took a seat in a booth in the corner, from where I had a clear view of everything in the club. Even though there were groups of guys gathered about in different areas, I took a few moments to check out each of them.

  First, I scanned a group of guys gambling in one section of the club. None of them looked familiar. Next, I checked out a group that played a game on the PlayStation 3 and none of them looked suspect.

  Finally, feeling comfortable, I directed my attention toward Diablo. I asked him, “So what’s the deal?”

  He told me, “Well, I got a few deliveries you can take care of for me—one in Florida, the other in Alabama, and the last just around the corner in Fort Valley.”

  “Oh, I got you. All those are around the corner for me. You know I got you.”

  “Cool. So we’ll set you up for Alabama first.”

  “A’ight,” I said, anxious to get my hands on my first little piece of dough, “I’m ready now.”

  “A’ight den. Let’s do this. Drive around to the back of the club.”

  I did just as Diablo had instructed and drove to the back.

  Diablo brought out the packages of cocaine and told me to stand back. I almost fainted as I watched him take off the door panel of my new car. I knew he had to hide the shit in a secure area, but just seeing the door panel off my car like that fucked me up.

  Oh, well, it’s all part of the game. It’ll be well worth it in the end, I thought as I looked on.

  I knew in the end everything would end in my favor. That’s one thing I always made sure of. My motto was, why settle for milk when you can have the cow? Just like that shit with Jewel—sure, she was a good friend and she looked out for a bitch—but why would I keep waiting for a handout, when I could easily take hers and do my own thing?

  Chapter 12

  “Back on the Scene”

  Touch

  “Hey, Touch. What’s good witcha?” “Man, you looking a’ight. Can’t even tell a nigga got shot.” “Long time no see, big homie.”

  Everybody dapped me up as I stepped on the scene.

  Just as I’d done when standing on my throne at Club Encore New Year’s night, I held both of my hands in the air in a kingly fashion. “Yeah, y’all niggas know what time it is. The king is back.”

  I had just walked in “A New Look,” a barbershop where all the ballers and street niggas went to get their hair cut. Behind the barbershop was another room with a pool table and a crap table, where men came to smoke weed, brag and talk shit, and lie about all the money they had and bitches they fucked. The
truth be known, more business transactions took place there than corporate America handled on the golf course.

  The spot was packed, which made my entrance all the more dramatic. The whole barbershop atmosphere made a nigga feel real dapper, just from the smell of aftershave and powder, the sound of clippers, and rap music that played in the background. This was a man’s thing. Nothing like a fresh cut and shave to make a man feel like a man. I was already jiggy with my gear and an added fresh cut was exactly what I needed to make me feel like my old self. I hopped in Mike’s chair and requested my usual “edge-up.” I wanted and needed to feel like “that nigga” again.

  This was the first time I’d been out since my recovery. I was determined to go back in public holding my head high, to let niggas know I wasn’t scared of the streets. Sure, I’d gotten shot, but I wasn’t letting that shit hold me down. I was strapped with my Glock and dressed in the best. Although I only wore a pair of Robin’s jeans, a plain beige D&G thermal shirt, and a fresh pair of wheat Timberlands, it was the Louis Vuitton scarf and skullcap that really set it off. I was finally walking with no assistance, free from walker and cane, so I was feeling on top of the world.

  As Mike prepared to line me up, everyone gathered around me to shout me out and sincerely seemed happy to see me. They acted like I was Lazarus being resurrected from the dead, which, in a sense, I was, or better yet, like I was some return war hero from Iraq.

  These streets were at war, and that ain’t no joke. I could have died, fucking with that damn Calico, and I’d planned to dead that nigga as soon as I located his snake ass.

  When I finished getting my cut, a few niggas gave me pounds, tapped shoulders, did the infamous handshake that all street cats do.

  Raz, another heavy drug nigga on the streets, called out, “Hey, I heard you and Jewel gon’ tie that knot.”

  “Yeah, we decided to do that thang,” I said, acting nonchalant.

  “Word on the streets is, Jewel got a diamond on her finger so big, it’s making bitches sick!” Mike said.

  “Yeah, sort of like mine.” I gave them a glimpse of the ice I was holding.

  “Y’all niggas doing it . . . living large,” Raz chimed back in.

  “What you mean, nigga? I’m trying to be like you,” I said jokingly to Raz.

  Suddenly the shop was filled with boisterous sounds of admiration and compliments. Everyone stood around and examined my platinum wedding band with my engraved initials boldly lifted across the band. Jewel had picked this ring out to match hers, which was just as large.

  “Man, that ring is sick!”

  “Damn, nigga! I ain’t never seen no ring like that.”

  The dick riders started to add their praises.

  “Hey, my lady says y’all niggas gon’ put on the wedding of the century. They say Barack Obama and Michelle’s inauguration ain’t gon’ have nothing on y’all thang. We got our invitation the other day.”

  This started a round of everyone saying they did or didn’t get their invitation.

  I held up my hands good-naturedly. “Hold up. I’ll make sure Jewel get y’all niggas your invitation. If you don’t get one, on the real, everyone here today is officially invited,” I said, knowing Jewel would have a fucking fit if she knew I invited everyone from the barbershop. Knowing her, she didn’t send them an invite on purpose.

  I finally felt like I was in my element again. I was back, back on center stage where I belonged. All of a sudden, the room fell quiet. I was still popping shit with one of my niggas when I heard somebody whisper, “Poppo’s here.”

  I looked up to see that bitch-ass nigga standing in the door, staring at me. In one quick motion, I went for my Glock, which was in the holster hooked on my belt. My first instinct was to kill his bitch-ass, but I knew I was in a public place, filled with snitches. I knew wherever Poppo was, Calico wasn’t too far away. I threw my left hand in the air as to say, “What’s up?” I didn’t want to have to light the barbershop up, but I would, if I had to.

  To my surprise, Poppo threw both hands up in the air on some white-flag, I-surrender shit, letting me know he wasn’t trying to beef, at least not at that point. I didn’t trust that nigga as far as I could see his scandalous ass, though.

  “Hey, nigga, you need to relax. Just consider me your savior,” Poppo said in a low tone as he passed me.

  Everyone’s eyes beamed on that nigga Poppo, their ears almost peeled back. Poppo looked just like one of those 2Pac-ass West Side muthafuckas too, dressed in Converse, jeans, and a flannel shirt. This cat was a fucking joke.

  “Nigga, what is you talking about?” I screwed my faced up and wondered how his bitch ass could ever be my savior.

  “Ask your bitch.”

  I could feel my temper rising. “What the fuck you say?” I started to rush his ass, but everyone grabbed me and held me back.

  Poppo looked at me and said, “I ain’t got no beef with you, little homie. Just ask your old lady what it is.” With that, he left.

  Although I stayed and let the African broad in the shop braid my hair, my mind was churning, and I was burning up inside. Ain’t life a bitch? I almost got killed, my wifey stands by me, then the next thing I know, that bitch is trying to do me.

  Chapter 13

  “The Run-in”

  Poppo

  I walked out the barbershop wondering if I’d just fucked things up. It was bad enough I had missed my meeting with Jewel when I’d gotten arrested, and I hadn’t heard from her since. Then I get into a fucking argument with Touch. I probably shouldn’t have said shit about nothing, but that shit just came out of nowhere. I never expected to run into that nigga, Touch. Then it was how this nigga came at me. What the fuck was I suppose to do? Bitch up? Nah, I wasn’t about to let that shit happen. But I should have been a little smarter about how I handled shit ’cause, if Touch didn’t know about the plan, for sure it was gonna bring problems between him and his bitch. I was expecting a call from Jewel soon enough.

  Ring! Ring!

  My phone rang sooner than I’d expected. I thought it was Jewel. I looked down at my phone. To my surprise it was Murdock.

  “What up, nigga? You ready for me?” I said, hoping this nigga had my ten grand.

  I’d been waiting some time for my dough, and a nigga was getting restless. For a minute I thought he had bucked on me for my money. I had actually called that nigga a few times and left a couple of threatening messages. Sometimes that’s what it took to get a reaction out of a nigga.

  “I got a little something for you, man. You can come check me at the Caribbean spot.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  It took no time for me to arrive at our usual spot, Mo Dean’s. I walked in the restaurant to find Murdock sitting at the bar.

  “What up, duke?” I dapped him up.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Murdock offered.

  “Nah, man. I ain’t here for that. Let me get that off of ya, so I can get out of here. You know I don’t like hanging around out here. This spot getting hot. I got locked up on some bullshit the last time I was out here fucking with you.”

  “Yeah, man. The fucking police flooded the joint as soon as you left that day. They had niggas lined up on the wall, searching cats and running IDs. I was lucky though, everything with me was straight. A couple of niggas got locked up for possession, and a few niggas had warrants.”

  “Damn! That’s fucked up. So what you got for me?” I asked, getting back to business.

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen? You only owe me ten. Did you forget you already paid me five? As much as I would love to take your money, I won’t do that to you.”

  “Nah, fifteen hundred.” Murdock handed me the small stack of money.

  “Fifteen hundred? What the fuck is really going on, Murdock? You trying to play a nigga or what? I feel like you trying to play me.” My patience was running thin with Murdock. He’d been holding on to my money way too long now.

  “Come on, Poppo. Man, you know
I would never try to play you. We ain’t never had no problem with money. Trust me, Poppo, I got you, man.”

  “You said that same shit the last time we met up. I can’t keep hearing the same bullshit. You got one week, nigga. Rob somebody. Fuck it! Rob a bank! But do what the fuck you gotta do to get me my fucking dough.” I put the little change Murdock gave me in my pocket then walked away.

  Days passed and I ain’t hear from Jewel about my little run-in with Touch, so I figured shit was as usual. And I wasn’t about to call her so she could tell me something different, ’cause once I went through with the shit, she couldn’t renege on the deal. Or, in turn, I would have to deal with her and her bitch nigga too.

  So Calico was on his way to Atlanta, and like always, I was on my way to the airport to pick him up. But this time I didn’t mind, because I knew this would be the last time. I’d spent years flying here and driving there to deliver packages and pick up money while he sat in California and collected the money off of all my hard work, sweat, and blood. Hell, I had a crib, family, and baby mother in Cali that I wanted to spend time with too. Instead, I was always on the road for that nigga, hopping from telly (hotel) to telly, living out of a fucking suitcase.

  I spotted Calico as soon as I bent the corner. Like a proud chauffeur, I pulled up with a smile on my face, trying not to show one sign of deceit on my face.

  Chapter 14

  “Fucked-up Luck”

  Calico

  I’d never been so happy to get the fuck off a plane in my life. Hours on a plane from Los Angeles to Atlanta with crying babies, stinking-ass niggas, and no weed was straight fucking torture. As soon as I exited the airport and hopped in the car with Poppo, I sparked up the “kush.” I took in one deep pull and let it marinate then let it out slowly. Almost instantly a nigga was relaxed.