Thin Line Between Death and Dishonor

by Amir Sanchez

  “Bitch, I bet the next time you shit on a nigga like me, you going to remember to wipe your ass afterward. I kept you dressed in the finest and treated you like a queen. As soon as the clouds started showing, you ran and took cover. Then when it started raining, you left me out there by myself. When the storm came, you completely abandoned me. Well, guess what, bitch? The sun is out shining again. You should have had some patience, but you chose to keep me in the dark, and now you ain’t shit to me. If my mouth wasn’t dry, I’d spit in your face,” replied Jihad before turning his back on her.

  When he pushed the door to exit, he got a slight bit of resistance. So, he kicked it as hard as he could, only to see Cristina’s little dusty nigga flying backward. The chump must’ve heard the whole thing and didn’t even try to intervene. Jihad pulled the coward into the bathroom as well.

  “What the fuck . . . You spying on me, nigga? I tell you what. Since you want to disrespect me, you going to take your tire-changing-looking ass outside and scrub the white walls on that Grand Prix, or else I’ma empty my clip out on your chest. Matter of fact, just in case you try to leave without cleaning my tires, give me your license so I can see where you lay your head up at night. Try to run and I’m gonna pay you a visit at home. Is that understood, nigga? Now, bring your raggedy ass on,” said Jihad as the scared dusty nigga followed close behind him. Gus couldn’t believe what he had just seen. He couldn’t help but to laugh to himself at how crazy Jihad really was.

  Jihad went to the waitress that had served them and told her he would pay her a hundred dollars for a bucket with hot water and a rag. She complied without hesitation. When she came back to the table with his request, he pointed to the bucket, prompting Christina’s new boyfriend to pick it up without argument. Cristina watched on in embarrassment. But she knew that Jihad would have killed both of them without hesitation.

  When they finished their breakfast and stepped outside, they were surprised to see that the white walls were so clean, the tires looked brand new. Gus was so amazed he gave the nigga a fifty-dollar tip. Jihad got back into the car cracking up laughing. Before they pulled off, Cristina ran out of Ace’s crying and screaming how sorry she was. In return, Jihad wrote his number on a five-dollar bill and tossed it out the window.

  “You a five-dollar ho, bitch, and your value is less than this bum-ass nigga you with. Whenever he want to clean some more tires, give me a call,” Jihad said as they sped off. He didn’t bother to look back.

  Take ’Em to School

  Later that evening, Gus made several attempts to contact Leaf, to no avail. Hours later, he finally returned the call.

  “Yo, what’s up, cuz? Why you blowing my phone up when for real for real, you don’t fuck with me like that no more?” asked Leaf while inhaling deep tokes of Purple Haze into his lungs.

  “Come on, nigga, we family. Go ahead with all that high shit. I need to holler at you and Sha’Ron later on tonight, so meet me down Freeze’s around ten. Cool?”

  “Yeah, that’s cool. I’m supposed to pick up Sha’Ron in a few hours, so we’ll be there.” Shortly after ending the brief phone conversation with Leaf, his mother and Trish returned home clutching shopping bags from the mall. Trish had calmed down a great deal since Gus had moved in almost a month ago. Gus had spoken to his cousins and told them that he planned on moving in with Trish when Connie and Consuela came home. He figured it would work out better if his mother came and stayed with him and Trish for a couple of months until she was ready to get her own place; and he also thought it’d be good for Consuela to stay with her two sons in their home. Sha’Ron and Leaf both agreed, and so far, everything was working out well. Trish loved having Gus and Connie live with her. What she wasn’t loving at this time was having Jihad come to live with them. There was something about him that she didn’t like. He’d been living there for two weeks now, and she got a funny feeling sometimes when he was around. Nonetheless, he had agreed and proven to protect her man with his life, so that brought her some comfort. To add to that, his reputation of being a cold-blooded loyal killer outweighed any bad vibes she felt.

  “Hey, baby, wait until you see what I got you. But, let me holler at you in the other room about something personal,” said Connie while putting her arm around her son and guiding him into the living room, where she blasted the stereo to avoid anyone hearing what she had to tell him.

  “Baby boy, I’m behind you all the way in any decision you make. But the streets is talking and watching to see how you’re going to respond to the Atlantic City incident. You have to do two things . . . shut them up and show them who runs this motherfucking city. I know you don’t know who is responsible for the hit, so therefore, you go at all possibilities . . . competition, rivals, and any motherfucker who looked at you wrong. But you got that nigga Jihad now. Pull your strings and work him like a puppet. Make me feel better about this situation, understood?” instructed Connie, schooling and reminding her son how he got to the top and how to remain there.

  “You right, Mom. Let me fix this. I know exactly how to handle it,” he guaranteed her.

  There was no mystery that Connie was the real boss behind the Santana family, and always had been. Even after she and her sister were locked up, she still ran the family business from behind the scenes. Since the day Gus was born, she’d been breeding him to be a hustler and leader. It paid off big time after their incarceration, when Gus stepped up to the plate and proved he could carry the family name. This allowed the twins to remain in the background while their boys ran the show. It took sweat, blood, and tears to build the family to its current status so it would not be jeopardized for anything or anybody.

  A Thug Changes . . . Love Changes . . . and Family Become Strangers

  Later that night down at Freeze’s, Gus and Jihad sat at the table throwing back shots of Patrón while enjoying the view of several thick bitches who stood in front of their VIP table. They were hoping for some sort of acknowledgment, such as, Let me buy you a drink; You want to come home with me; or Let me take you out. They just sat back laughing at the females, knowing that they could have any one of them with the snap of a finger.

  A little after ten, Leaf and Sha’Ron walked through the door looking like superstars. If money could walk and talk, it would look like these two niggas. As the two approached the table, they were stopped over a dozen times by associates and groupie bitches. The chicks knew that if they had a chance at any of the crew, more than likely it would be Leaf or Sha’Ron, so they flocked around them with desperation. After about twenty minutes, the brothers finally made their way back to join Gus and Jihad. As soon as they sat down, Gus wasted no time addressing the issue.

  “Since the other night’s attempt on my life, I have made some adjustments. From now on, Jihad is going to be my personal enforcer. So, Leaf, I’m gonna need you to fall back from being security and start looking into who the fuck was responsible for the shoot-out at Atlantic City. If I was you, I’d start by calling guests and see if they say anything suspicious or any weird shit at all. You dig?” Gus tried to sound nonchalant, but he knew that Leaf was going to be upset over the sudden changes.

  “Yeah? Oh yeah? That’s how niggas do, huh? First of all, who the fuck do you think you are making decisions without checking with me and my brother first? I thought we do shit together as a family. And, nigga, you better remember who the gun of this family is. As a matter of fact, fuck both you niggas. I don’t need any of you. Me and my little brother going to start doing our own thing. Ever since you started fucking with that old head Black, you changed up on everybody. You act like you and Black is the be-all and end-all gangsters in Philly. That motherfucker swear he gangsta, but that nigga ran as soon as he heard those shots at the party. So you know what? Fuck you and your new changes. Come on, Sha’Ron, we out,” snapped Leaf, putting Sha’Ron in the middle of yet another disagreement with Gus.

  “Man, y’all niggas always tripping about every little thing. Don’t put me in this shit. Excuse me
, I’ma get me a drink,” said Sha’Ron, getting up and walking away from the table as Leaf followed behind him.

  “Man, fuck that nigga. He’ll get over it. The nigga expect me to continue trusting my life in his hands when a nigga almost let somebody blow my fucking head off. Hell no! Come on, Jihad, we got some shit to take care of anyway,” added Gus before he downed the last of the Patrón left in his cup.

  Ten minutes later, the Grand Prix slowly drove past Forty-ninth Street, where a small crowd formed around a dice game. Gus had several run-ins with the nigga that controlled the block, and after several demands, he had yet to comply and start buying coke from the Santanas. On one or more occasions, the two had heated words and friction where serious threats were made. Tonight, Gus planned to cash in on him. He parked around the corner from Forty-ninth Street, popped the trunk, and went to retrieve the AK-47 he kept concealed there. When he got back into the car with it, Jihad gave him a confused look.

  “Let’s go. We about to ride on these niggas. Here, take this chopper, nigga,” said Gus as he passed the AK-47 to Jihad.

  Before Jihad could think the situation out, they were already driving down Forty-ninth Street. Gus opened up the sunroof, then gave Jihad “the look.” When they were right up on the crowd, he gave him the order to start shooting. Left with no choice, Jihad came from out of the sunroof and let the powerful assault rifle burst round after round into the unsuspecting crowd of gamblers. The shots either missed their intended targets or hit them below the waist. Jihad was a skilled shooter with almost any weapon, and if he wanted to, he could have murdered the entire crowd and still had ammunition left in his clip, when all was said and done. After fleeing the scene, they drove straight to the car rental fleet and switched cars. They traded it in for a Dodge Charger this time.

  Gangsta’s Gone Wild

  “We got to pull him out immediately. He just committed over twenty offenses. The Atlantic City shit was one thing and no one got hurt. We have a violent criminal-turned-confidential informant acting on his own. Now, he’s shooting live ammunition and injuring people. This shit’s going too far, and I’m not losing my job or going to jail because we are knowingly allowing criminal activities in our investigation,” exclaimed Amy, devastated after hearing the shooting through the transmitter inside of Jihad’s belt. Adam stood there for a few seconds just staring at her, trying to find the right words to say. After a few moments of silence, he found them.

  “Amy, I think you have the potential to be a great agent, but you have to learn that the job has to be done by any means necessary. I’ve been supervising agents for over fifteen years. I have earned medals, references, and job offerings, from government officials to presidents. The men and women I work with are successful professionals; and I can assure you, they are the best. You see, one thing about the federal government is, they train you in the academy on how to survive under the rules and regulations. I teach you how to work and get the best results. While you’re on my team, Amy, you will back up your fellow agents until the end. And, one thing I promise you is we will not lose. Now, I need you to take control of your emotions and keep them in check. Is that understood?” Adam lectured Amy, revealing to her the method under which the feds operated.

  “Yes, sir. I see it’s all one big chess game, and the pawns are sacrificed to get the king,” she replied with a better understanding of how things worked.

  “Now you are getting the picture,” said Adam with a smile.

  * * *

  Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three bricks and $700,000. Leaf had just spent the last hour gathering all the drugs and cash he had in his safe. He felt hurt, mad, and betrayed by his cousin. What people didn’t realize was that Leaf was a sensitive nigga and took shit to heart very easily. He couldn’t believe that Gus had made such a crucial decision without going over it with him first. Especially when it applied to his own position. It made him feel like he was dispensable and of no importance to the family business. Seeing how Gus had just tossed him to the side like that, he was now determined to build his own empire.

  You ain’t the only nigga with heart and courage, cuz. I’m gonna do this shit better than you ever did, Leaf thought to himself. To conquer the streets the way he wanted to, first, he needed to gather a vicious team behind him who would acknowledge him as the gangster and boss he was, and remain loyal soldiers at all times. He had just the niggas in mind.

  I Can Do Better on My Own

  Leaf pulled up in his F-150 truck in front of Sygon Projects in South Philly. He was in search of two certified killers by the name of EZ and Ikeal. They had met in the county lockup a few years back. They were all fighting serious cases and weren’t granted bail so they were stuck in there until their hearings. Eventually, they got cool and started to walk the yard together. They gained victories in their cases and were freed around the same time. They invited each other to their hoods and promised to link up when the time was right. That time had come. The crowd of young niggas hugging the block suddenly stopped when Leaf’s unfamiliar truck sat in front of their projects, as if he were the police or rivals. They started reaching for guns and huddling up. Leaf rolled the window down before they started shooting.

  “Ain’t no need to get it heated. I’m looking for EZ and Ikeal,” he announced firmly.

  “Who the fuck is you?” asked one of the scruffy-looking young bucks.

  “Leaf,” he paused for a second, “Ka’Leaf Santana.” He felt a little hesitant about screaming his last name out. He was really wanting to start his new identity without using the family name. The guys acted unfazed when they heard his full government name. If his name rang a bell at all, it didn’t seem like it. One of them got on the phone.

  Leaf stayed in the same spot and rolled his window back up. He was not going anywhere until he found these two niggas. He knew that eventually he would spot them down here. As he sat back and sparked his Dutch, two cars pulled up and boxed him in the parking lot. At least five niggas jumped out of each car, heavily armed. Leaf picked up his .40 cal, ready for whatever. Suddenly, Leaf recognized Ikeal’s voice and started shouting his name.

  “Ikeal, it’s me, Leaf. What the fuck is good?” said Leaf as he ducked down in his seat.

  “Aw, shit, Leaf. What the fuck is wrong with you coming down here talking ’bout you looking for niggas, with all the drama we got going on down here? Come the fuck out here, you crazy-ass nigga,” said Ikeal before he ordered his team to disperse. When Leaf climbed out of the truck, he was greeted by Ikeal and EZ. They expressed their love and respect for one another through handshakes and an extended hug.

  “Man, y’all niggas is shot the fuck out. Didn’t the young niggas say it was me? I thought it was about to go down,” said Leaf, shaken up a little about the miscommunication.

  “What? You told them young niggas over there who you were?” asked Ikeal with a confused look on his face.

  “Yeah, I told them niggas my whole name,” Leaf responded.

  Ikeal confronted the little niggas and asked if it was true that Leaf addressed his name. When they said they hadn’t heard him, EZ and Ikeal started to beat the young niggas to the ground.

  “Y’all motherfuckers need to listen and pay attention to shit that gets said. This nigga almost got shot up because y’all niggas wasn’t keeping your ears open,” EZ yelled in between landing kicks and punches. “Now, fight back and defend yourselves,” he instructed them. The little niggas fought back even though they got their asses whipped and knew they couldn’t win. This was true soldier shit and just the type of discipline that Leaf needed on his team.

  After Leaf shared his plans and goals for locking the city down, EZ and Ikeal were all for it. They had actually been waiting for an opportunity to come along where they could start making real moves and seeing some nice paper. Ikeal and EZ had over 75 guns and 30 soldiers that were ready to shoot, kill, and die for the cause. Their plans would take a few weeks to be put into action, and Leaf was anxious and excited to unlea
sh his wolves. When you had a team of niggas with nothing to lose but their minds, time, and lives, nothing could stop them. Gus had no idea that he was in for a rude awakening.

  We Got 99 Problems

  “Consuela, I don’t know what’s up with these boys, but it ain’t a good look right now,” Connie spoke to her sister while they sat in a Jacuzzi at LA Fitness. “Trish told me Gus and Leaf had a big falling out. I been calling Leaf for two days and his little behind ain’t been answering or returning my calls. The word on the streets is he talking about going his separate way and doing his own thing. You already know we can’t allow that, so we need to intervene fast before this thing gets blown out of proportion.”

  “Goddamn that hotheaded son of mine.” Consuela sucked her teeth and punched the water out of frustration. “And I bet you poor Sha’Ron is caught up in the middle of this bullshit like usual. I’m calling a family meeting tonight, and everyone that bears the last name Santana better be present, with no exceptions,” Consuela stated, no longer feeling capable of relaxing in the Jacuzzi with her sister.

  “These niggas don’t know that we’re responsible for all their fuckups. We need to get to the bottom of things before shit goes left or we’ll have to tell Black to discontinue all business arrangements. If these boys keep fucking around, we’re going to have a major war on our hands,” Connie exclaimed thinking of the worst-case scenario.

  Later on that evening, everyone but Leaf was in attendance for the meeting. His phone was disconnected, and no one knew how to get in contact with him. Sha’Ron and Gus had driven around to his favorite spots and asked around if anyone had seen or spoken to Leaf, but he was nowhere to be found. With or without him, the meeting was still to take place and any discussions and decisions made tonight were final. Leaf going ghost on them automatically took him out of having a say in whatever actions the Santana family took from here on out. Consuela was hurt that her son had deliberately distanced himself from them without even talking to her first, but there was too much at stake for her to give him time to come to his senses. If only Leaf had known what his moves would lead to, he would have come kicking the door down to be present at this meeting.