by Amir Sanchez
“Nigga, is you crazy? Don’t you know you can get yourself killed, walking up on niggas like that? Back the fuck up and approach this table like you got some respect, nigga,” he demanded while giving Crock the stare of death. With a heart full of fear, Crock did just as he was told.
“My fault, Gus. I ain’t mean no disrespect. Like I was saying, Leaf and some other niggas came down my block with a bunch of guns. My peoples was ready to go to war, but I couldn’t give the word because I know that’s your family. The nigga passed me some of his own product, charged me more for it, and told me to call him when I was done. I been finished, but my pride won’t allow me to call the nigga. I rather just go through you. I hope after this, shit will be back the way it used to be.”
“Where the money at? You got it close by?” Gus inquired.
“I got it outside in my trunk right now,” he confirmed. In a matter of a few seconds, Gus had constructed a wicked plot.
“Give me the number he gave you to call.”
“215-555-0921.”
“All right, that’s good. Jihad, follow him outside to his car and get that paper.” When Jihad came back in, he carried the money inside a book bag.
“I ain’t count it up, but the nigga said it was over eighty thousand. What you up to, nigga? I see that look in your eye.”
“You know how it’s that one thing that you always promised yourself you would do one day? I’m about to make that shit rain,” he snapped before pulling stacks of money from the book bag and carelessly throwing it around the bar. The bar patrons went into a frenzy. They pushed, punched, kicked, and did everything in their power to pick up as much money as they could. The funny thing was, it was a bunch of niggas crawling on the ground for money that claimed to be big-time ballers.
Gus and Jihad walked out the door laughing about the situation. The laughter was soon replaced with murderous intentions as they slowly drove through Sygon Projects. When Gus spotted a few niggas outside trapping, he instructed Jihad to circle the block and park up.
“Keep the shit running and your eyes open,” he barked before putting his hood over his head and hopping out of the car.
Jihad became paranoid as hell as he called on his employers to come to his rescue.
“Shit! Amy, if you hear me, we are down South Philly at Sygon Projects. Gus is ready to do something crazy. I’m stuck! What the fuck am I—?”
Suddenly, gunshots rang out in the near distance.
Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp!
“Aw, shit. The nigga done shot at something or someone. Shots fired!” he panicked. Suddenly, the door flew open and Gus hopped in the car out of breath.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. I laid all them niggas out! What the fuck was you in here screaming about?” Jihad ignored the question and focused on getting far away from the area. Once they made it a safe distance away from the scene, Gus put the icing on the cake. He used the number Crock had given him to call Leaf. He got an answer on the first ring.
“Leaf, you a fuckin’ coward, nigga. You pull that stunt on my mom while I’m on vacation? You’re lucky she let you live, my nigga. By the way, that eighty thousand and change that Crock owed you . . . Well, I made it rain with that shit down at Freeze’s. Check for yourself. Your career is finished here, nigga. If I was you, I’d leave the city right now, or else it’s going to be an instant repeat of tonight every fuckin’ day. I’m back like I never left.”
Leaf sat quiet on the other end of the line. Crock had done just as he expected he would do. Before he could respond, the call was disconnected. As he analyzed the situation, he determined that Gus spoke the truth about the money. He had no other way of knowing about it unless it came from Crock. That also explains how he got the number. However, he didn’t understand what he meant by doing an instant replay every day. As he sat back pondering on the statement, his thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone. He thought it was Gus calling back with more threats. Once he viewed the caller ID, he noticed that it was Ikeal’s number.
“Yo, killer. What the situation?”
“I’m trying to figure something out. Do your peoples got a white BMW?”
“Yeah, why? What’s up?” asked Leaf, fearing the worst.
“Them niggas slid through and aired shit out. Two of the young niggas got killed and the other one fighting for his life. This shit can’t go unanswered. We ready to move out. What’s up?”
“Don’t move without me. I’m on my way down there right now!”
Leaf and his goons rode around for an hour searching for Gus, to no avail. The nigga was somewhere in the cut. The only reason they didn’t take it to his front door was because there was a possibility that Leaf’s mother was in the house. He refused to put his mother in harm’s way. They decided to slide past Fifty-fourth Street and pay Crock a visit instead.
Parking a block or so away, they were able to maintain a clear visual of Fifty-fourth Street. The strip was vacant, with the exception of one hustler who used the Chinese store as his station to hustle out of. Just as they were ready to pull off and end the mission until the following day, they spotted Crock’s black Lexus pull up in front of the store. He wasn’t alone. There was a female companion in the passenger seat. After a few minutes, he jumped out and entered the store. Leaf pulled the truck from the parking space and gunned it to the front of the Chinese store. He put the car in Park and hopped out. When he entered the store, he encountered Crock and his man smoking a Dutch while counting a stack of money. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. He tried to talk himself out of the situation.
“Leaf, what’s good? That work was proper. I was just getting ready to hit your phone. Did you get your money from Gus?” he asked with a slight panic in his voice.
Two gunshots sounded off outside. Crock’s homie made the fatal mistake of reaching into his coat. Leaf was faster on the draw and splattered his brains on the wall. Crock dropped his head. He was unable to face his soon-to-be killer. Leaf sat him down permanently with two shots to the face. Noticing the Dutch still burning next to the man’s body, he walked over, picked it up, and took a deep pull. As he was on his way out of the store, he was stopped in his tracks by the screaming of the Chinese lady who stood behind the bulletproof counter.
“I call police! You crazy! This my store, nigger!”
He pointed his gun in her direction and fired the remaining shots. Although none of the bullets penetrated through, it scared the shit out of her.
When he left the store, he walked to the truck as if he didn’t have a care in the world. While passing the Lexus, he glimpsed the female whose body was slumped over the seat suffering from a head shot. Back inside the truck, he offered his goons the Dutch he had taken from the deceased. They shared it as they drove back to South Philly, laughing about their latest kills.
The following morning everyone present in Gus’s house was tuned in to the local news. They briefly talked about the shooting down in South Philly that left two people dead and another seriously injured. Shootings in that neighborhood were common on a day-to-day basis and received little or no attention. This was good on their behalf. But when they flashed the breaking news story across the screen, they talked about a triple murder in West Philly on Fifty-fourth Street. They showed pictures of three victims, as well as the gruesome aftermath the killers left behind. Connie stood up and turned the television off.
“That’s that nigga’s work, ain’t it? He’s trying to outdo you. That mafucka got the last laugh. He thinks he’s winning, Gus. You got to hit him harder, baby,” she encouraged.
His mother’s crazy, irrational attitude was starting to bother him. Shit was already out of hand. At the rate things were going, his promises of fortune and success were being replaced with death and unnecessary beef with his own blood.
Although Trish didn’t say anything, he could see the sadness and fear written all over her face. She looked as if she thought she was going to lose him. Becoming frustr
ated with the situation, he turned to the only person he knew could think through situations like this and manage to come out on top. Picking up his cell phone, he connected the call.
“Black, what’s up with you? Look, I’m back home, and something real urgent has come up. I need to get at you. Can I get up with you?”
“I’m a little tied up with something right now, but you could swing through my house around two thirty. Cool?”
“That’s great. That gives me enough time to grab me a rental. I appreciate you, ol’ head,” he expressed before disconnecting. “Jihad, we gotta roll. We need to pick up another rental, and then we’re going to Black’s house.”
“Trish, Ma, I’ll see you ladies later. Ma, calm yourself down, and, Trish, please don’t worry, baby,” he said to the two most important women in his life. He hated seeing them upset.
While they were on the way to the rental agency, Jihad received an unexpected call from Vickie. He was skeptical about answering it because Gus was in the car with them. On second thought, he decided it might be urgent, so he answered anyway.
“What’s up, Ma-Ma? I ain’t hear from you in a minute. What made you hit me up out of the blue?”
“Listen very closely, Jihad. We’ve been following everything that’s been going on, and we’re close to making a few arrests. However, there’s one last thing we need you to put into place before that happens. I need you to stop by my place before y’all go over to Black’s house. We’ve already created a scheme that’s convincing enough for him to bring you through here. I don’t feel good. I missed my period, and I think I’m pregnant . . . react shocked,” she instructed.
“What? Are you serious?” he replied perfectly.
“Okay, good. Now when you guys switch cars, drive to Rite Aid and pick up a pregnancy test. Once you get here, just follow my lead.”
“Damn! You fucked my head up with that one. I’d never thought in a million years, I’d be a father.” When he hung the phone up, Gus inquired with curiosity.
“That was the little Spanish mommy? Is she all right?”
“Yeah, she good, but the bitch scaring me, talking that pregnancy shit. I need to grab a test and stop by her spot immediately.”
Being a regular at the car rental agency came with advantages, and quick, top-of-the-line service was one of them. He chose the smoked-out Lincoln Continental, and they were back on the road by twelve forty-five. At that time, Jihad explained deeper the dilemma that was happening with Vickie. He requested if they could stop at the store, pick up the test, and then go past her house. Gus agreed and was more supportive than expected.
“If she is pregnant, I want to be the godfather, nigga.”
“Most definitely!”
After stopping at the drugstore, they headed down to North Philly to Vickie’s house. Upon arrival, she answered the door, appearing distraught. Her eyes were puffy, and she wore a blanket covering her shoulders.
“Come on in, y’all. I look a mess. Jihad, come on upstairs. I been holding my pee for twenty minutes. I want to hurry up and take this test. Gus, make yourself at home, baby,” she invited in a welcoming manner as she and Jihad headed upstairs. Once inside the bathroom, Vickie quickly handed him two small devices that looked like miniature speakers. She placed a note in front of him that read, Plant at least one of these in Black’s house or car . . . both, if possible. Be very careful. Things will be wrapping up shortly. After relaying the message, she removed the pregnancy test and poured a liquid substance over the top of it. The remainder was poured inside the toilet and flushed. After washing her hands, they went back downstairs where they patiently waited for the results. Five minutes later, Jihad did the honors of reading it.
“It’s two lines on it. What that mean?”
“That mean I’m pregnant, nigga. I told you to stop coming up in me like that! You know your ass is fertile from being in jail all that time.”
“Gus, I can’t believe this shit! Am I reading this right?” he questioned while showing him the results.
“Hell, yeah, you reading it right. The two lines is clear as day. You going to be a father, nigga.”
“It is what it is, Vickie. I be back later tonight. Take this couple dollars and feed my baby,” he stated before peeling off a few hundred-dollar bills. When he started kissing on her stomach and talking like a baby, Gus took his cue to leave.
“Yo, I’ma be out in the car. Don’t forget to check on what we talked about last time when we was down here.”
“I got you, homie. I be right out.” As soon as Gus left, she reminded him one last time of his assignment.
“Remember, Jihad, one of those needs to be placed in Black’s house. In the sofa, bathroom, under the table, anyplace where he’s likely to converse. He still wants to know about setting up shop on this block? Shit! If he only knew, these niggas ready to get indicted they damn self. We’ll be listening very closely. Continue the good job and follow our lead,” she encouraged before sending him on his way. When Jihad got back in the car, he made something up to tell Gus.
“I asked about the block, and she said she was going to holler at her peoples, and then get back to me.”
Thirty minutes later, they were walking into Black’s King of Prussia home. Black wasted no time letting Gus know he knew about everything going on. He even told him that he had called Jihad and spared Leaf’s life out of respect for him and his family.
“I appreciate that, ol’ head.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, was y’all able to straighten that problem out with your peoples?”
“That nigga ain’t my people no more. For one, he opposed against everything we stand for. Then to make matters worse, he transgressed against my mother. I told the nigga, the best thing for him would be to leave town. Because if not, shit is just gonna keep getting messy. I’ma kill everything around him until he has no choice but to leave. You dig me?”
Black turned his back to Gus. He didn’t want to expose the disappointment that was clearly written on his face. He realized that Gus wasn’t willing to kill Leaf. He knew they were cousins and everything, but Gus should’ve been prepared to kill Leaf for the way he’d disrespected his mother and how he came for his empire. He’d warned Jihad in hopes that they would handle the situation, but apparently he was mistaken. This proved to Black that Gus was a weak nigga after all. Placing his hand on his chin, he began contemplating on the appropriate actions he had to take that would eliminate his association to the Santanas.
“Good. Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now, we got to focus on getting back to work. Let’s go out back and talk real quick. Please excuse us, Jihad.” Black had to keep up the act that he was cool with everything that was going on. He led the way for Gus to follow him toward the outside patio.
Gus had no idea that his actions had just cost him his relationship with his mentor. He thought he was making Black proud with the way he was handling everything, but he was sadly mistaken. He was under the impression that Black condoned him sparing his cousin’s life. But instead, Black was now ready to turn his back on him and the twins. Black refused to get himself involved or caught up with street wars. They usually ended with one of two outcomes. Everyone would end up dead or in jail. His empire was too valuable to take either risk. They all had to die. All the love that he once had for Gus ceased from existence. It was replaced with a plot and a death wish.
With Gus and Black out of the room, Jihad was presented the perfect opportunity to carry out what he was instructed to do. He quickly retrieved the device from his pants and stuffed it inside the couch.
“Listen, Gus, while you were on vacation I came across a new contact with a better grade of work at a cheaper price. He offered me a hundred joints at a monster deal. I’m supposed to get with him tonight, but I can’t go withdraw that kind of money from the bank in that little bit of time. Can you get your hands on about two million?”
“I got a little bit more than that saved up, but I trust you with it. I’ll have
to take a ride out to Jersey to get it, though. How soon you need it?”
“The sooner the better,” he claimed. Black had indeed initiated the first act of rocking a nigga to sleep, and that was by breaking him financially. That characteristic made him a master at being treacherous and deceptive. These elements alone were key factors in him maintaining his reign on the top over the years.
When they returned to the living room, they both took notice of Jihad. Not only was his forehead sweating profusely, but he also appeared to be a nervous wreck. It was obvious he wasn’t aware of it.
“Little homie, what’s wrong? You seen a ghost?” Black asked suspiciously.
“Huh? What you mean by that? It’s hot as shit, and I don’t like sitting still,” he lied after taking notice of his nervous reaction.
“Anyway, we got to shoot over the bridge real quick so I can grab some paper. Get some air on the way to the car,” Gus recommended. Black never took his eyes off of Jihad. He knew he lied about it being hot because his house was always kept cool. He must have seen the expression on my face when I turned my back on Gus. I wonder if he’s on to me, Black thought as he watched them pull out of the driveway.
“As soon as y’all get back, both of y’all niggas going to get it,” he said to himself.
* * *
During the ride over to New Jersey, the two sat silently, each caught up in deep thought. Something inside Gus was telling him to fall back. His vibes were so overwhelming that it gave him sharp pains in the pit of his stomach. Yet, he ignored the signs and chalked it up to him just being anxious about everything that was going on. Add to that the fact that he’d barely slept since he got back, it definitely could explain why he was feeling some type of way.
Jihad, on the other hand, was scared shitless. He had almost been exposed and feared that when they returned, Black might have discovered the device and kill him on the spot. He had to figure something out—fast. Unbeknownst to him, help was on the way.
Once he successfully planted the bug in Black’s house, the warrant to arrest Gus was authorized. They heard over the wire that Gus was planning to retrieve some money over in New Jersey. There was a helicopter hovering in the sky, monitoring their every move and feeding the information to a ground unit that was ready to move out.