by Mack Mama
“Eh, Toka, what you did today?” he questioned casually as we were lying naked on the couch after making love. My mother was in the hospital, so I had the crib to myself.
I had been dating Squirrel for a few months and was head over heels for him. He had a “baby mother” and with that came a lot of drama, but I was his ride or die chick and proud of it. He was twenty four and had me, a fifteen year old, running around with him while he was on the lamb from the police. He was even featured on America’s Most Wanted. I was loyal to a fault and looked up to this man like he was my father. I even went so far as to call him “Daddy”. That’s what happens when you don’t have your father in your life, you look for that father figure in a man.
I answered his question. I told him that I sold some gear to the dude, but before I could finish the story, he jumped up and began to beat me wildly. I was flabbergasted! I could only curl up in a tight ball, while he pummeled my back and rib cage with blows. I was so confused, because although it wasn’t his first time beating me up, I didn’t have a clue as to what I did to cause his fury. He finally told me the reason when he got tired of assaulting me. He had me pinned on the floor, bruised and battered, as he berated me. “YOU F*****G WHORE! YOU F****D THAT NICCA!!” he roared furiously. I couldn’t believe that he thought I had sex with my customer until he told me what the liar had said to his sister. I was in disbelief as to why would anybody lie like that for no reason at all. It just didn’t make sense. I denied it vehemently, but it was to no avail. He simply threatened to kill me. I knew that I was dealing with a stone cold murderer, so I didn’t take his threat lightly. Drastic measures had to be taken. At that moment, I made up my mind that I was going to shoot the liar and prove my innocence. If I went through such extreme measures, I felt that he would believe me.
The next day, I dressed in all black and borrowed a gun Squirrel’s younger brother, Tracy. He didn’t bother to talk me out of my plan. He provided me with the pistol and wished me luck. He warned me not to lose his gun in the process. The gangster mentality in the hood was serious! We were teenagers discussing the probability of hurting someone as casually as asking for the time. That was the underworld I lived in, and the beast I had become.
I devised a master plan to get the liar, whose name is Larrel, to meet me in City Park. That park was the gateway between Farragut and Fort Greene. Everyone walked through there to get back and forth between the two projects. He had no idea that I knew about the vicious lie he spread on me, so I used that to my advantage and rocked him to sleep. He was so excited to meet with me, and probably thought I wanted to really get with him. He had no clue about what I was planning to do to him. It was around 11:00 p.m. --booty call time-- and it was pitch black in the park. I had told him to meet me by the pool entrance at 11:30 p.m., which was a remote, isolated area. Arriving early, I laid in the cut until I saw his tall, lean frame approaching rapidly. I wasn’t nervous. Instead, I was furious and wanted justice served. He had to be taught a lesson because that lie could have been fatal to me. Plus, the beating I took behind that charade had caused me so much pain. My back was aching, and I feared that it was dislocated. It was now time for Liar to feel some pain too. My adrenaline was pumping and, when he was directly in front of me, I pulled out the gun on him, which caused him to freeze in his tracks and wipe the dopey grin off of his face. “Yeah ‘nicca you lied on me. You thought I was ‘gonna let you skate with that shit?” I snarled, pointing the pistol steadily at a spot in the center of his stomach. He was tall and his reflexes went into action instantly as he tried to knock the gun out of my hand. He caught me off guard, but I held on to that ‘banga (gun) for dear life until he finally let go and took off running. I started letting off shots POW…POW…POW. The third one hit the target. I saw him buckle and grab his leg, but he kept running all the way back to Farragut. I was amped up and excited.
The rush I felt was better than any drug I had ever tried. I felt powerful! I fought back!! I wished that I had enough courage to shoot Squirrel, but my love for him was too strong, and it overpowered the hate that I felt when he beat me. I know exactly how battered women feel when they stay loyal to their abusers and don’t leave. It is part of the mental control that they instill in you; the fear and sadly the love that keeps you around for more, hoping that every beating is the last. You want so badly to believe the apologies and cries of love, but it’s hard for the abuser to love you if he can’t love himself. It is all a horrible sickness on the abuser’s part and the victim.
After that incident, I felt invincible. For every beating I took from Squirrel, I bottled that anger up, and let it loose on anyone who violated me. That combined with the resentment I felt about my mother’s situation had turned me into a cold callous individual. I didn’t care about hurting anyone else, because I was hardened by the continuous beatings that I had to endure. Getting hurt was a normal occurrence. When Squirrel heard about the shooting, he didn’t know how to take it. His first reaction was, “You better not try that shit with me, b***h!” that statement was followed by, “Your little ass got heart. That’s why I f**k with you.” I took it as a proud owner of a pit bull who had just killed another pit bull and her owner rewarded her, but never let the b***h forget who was the master.
My second shooting was after my mother’s death. Sadly, she died when I was sixteen from the AIDS virus. It was also the year that I did my first extensive bid, which was twelve months in Nassau County Jail. I was in and out of Juvie (juvenile detention) and graduated to Rikers Island for thirty days here and there, but the biggie was that Nassau County bid. It came thirty days after my mother was buried. I did eight months out of that year and came home a better criminal.
I will never forget how I felt that very first time in the back seat of a police cruiser, handcuffed like an animal. At that moment, you swear to God that you’ve learned your lesson, and you pray to get out of that predicament. But as soon as you’re released, you forget the degrading feeling of being caged like an animal. Before you know it, you’re back at it like nothing ever happened. Prison was like college. I learned how to do more crime and excel at them. I was schooled by the old-timers and soaked up all the criminology I could in those eight months. When I was released, I resumed boosting and started recruiting younger girls between thirteen and fourteen years old to be my bag ups.
The term “bag ups” meant that I took them into the stores and loaded up bags and stuffed their girdles, using them as mules to carry the stolen goods out of the stores for me. These girls were wayward street urchins who were wasting away in the streets with no direction. They had no way to get money without degrading themselves by using sex, so Queenie and I took them under our wings. We taught them the game and showed them how to get money. It perpetuated the destruction of their lives, but in our minds, we were helping them and showing them a better life. That was one of the many examples, of my twisted thinking at that time in my life.
The day of the shooting, I was defending one of our bag ups. We pulled up on this girl and her boyfriend, the girl was a hater and was talking shit about us, so we gave the orders and sent our girl to jump out and beat her up. While they were fighting, the boyfriend decides to jump in and punch our girl in the face, giving her a black eye. The situation got crazy! I jumped out of the car and shot him in the stomach, and then we fled the scene. It was a point that had to be made and, that point was, we were not to be played with. We could have easily driven off with our girl’s eye blackened, but our reputations were at stake. Drastic measures had to be taken. The boyfriend survived, and so did the guy I shot in the leg prior to that incident; therefore, I wasn’t concerned or the slight bit bothered about the repercussions of my actions. I didn’t realize that I was doing anything wrong. It was the way of life in my world, and only the strong survived. Violence was par for the course. My philosophy was simple: If any one violated me, I was going to get them back. The slightest infraction was enough to feel my wrath. If you talked about me or my people, or if you
did anything to harm me or mines in any manner, it was death before dishonor, and that included a traitor in my crew. We were on that gangster tip hard! That was the birth of O.B.G’s (Original Bad Girls). I came up with the name years later when I started rapping, but the concept and the life I lived gave birth to the movement.
My third shooting was based on revenge. The victim was a female I will call her Grimey. She was from Lafayette Gardens, which was another notorious projects in Brooklyn. She was a booster with a reputation for being a “grimey” chick. I should have stayed clear of her, but all of the hustlers in my ‘hood eventually cliqued up and “took” money together.
We began to hang tough, getting money together and smoking dust. I was warned repeatedly about how sneaky and foul this girl was, but I paid it nooch. I felt like we were cool, so she wouldn’t get me. I learned from Grimey never to underestimate any one. She was a fly-girl, but one of those types who wanted it all for herself. She was a control freak, and wasn’t satisfied unless she had it all. I remember one night I had a sleep over, and I invited her and a couple of girls from her crew over. We had a fun night, but the next day my Polo jacket was missing out of my closet. Back then, Ralph Lauren’s Polo design was a big deal, and the pieces were coveted. All of the boosters from different cliques tried to out boost each other, and the LG girls were very competitive and known for being conniving. I knew they had struck when I discovered my jacket missing. I took a loss that day, but vowed to never make the mistake of bringing wolves to my den again.
Stupidly, I didn’t stick to that vow and a couple of days later we went on a boosting spree. We descended on the stores in the city like a flock of rabid pit bulls. We took anything we wanted with no regard for the law. That day, she convinced me to leave my burner (pistol) at home. I always carried a gun on me (just in case). I was so wild that I wasn’t above pulling my gun out and backing down a security guard to prevent getting arrested. There were times when I had to mace the security to get out of stores. Not to omit, the wild fights I had with security who tried to apprehend me.
So, against my better judgment, I left it home and went out. After a good day, the rental was packed with garbage bags full of stolen merchandise. We ran in and out of the high-end stores in Manhattan until we had accumulated enough merchandise to sell and make money. After our boosting spree, we headed back to Cypress Hill Projects where Grimey had a customer waiting to buy our goods. She told me to come with her into a building in the projects because one of her customers had supposedly wanted to buy all of our merchandise. We got into the elevator rode up several floors. When we finally reached the floor, the door swung open and a guy with the biggest gun I had ever saw stood there in his house slippers. He pointed it directly at me and told me to “run my shit” (give him my jewelry). Now come on! What stick up kid ran around in his slippers robbing people? He looked at me and went directly for my chain and bracelets. I managed to conceal a few of my gold bangles, but he was deliberate about what he wanted from me. He didn’t bother to take anything from Grimey, which was a mistake, because it made the whole set up and jack (robbery) obvious.
I was fuming and wanted to f**k her up, but I held my composure until we got down stair. I wasn’t a fool, and I didn’t want to get shot. Once we got downstairs and back into the car, I couldn’t believe how nonchalant and unbelievable she was acting after the robbery. I decided to keep my cool and plotted on my revenge. She had her bag ups with her and I didn’t have my burner. I didn’t want to get jumped on top of the robbery. I knew one thing for certain: I was going to get ‘dat bitch! Her griminess kicked in overdrive. That and her greed caused her to have me set up and robbed. She had wanted my jewelry and stopped at nothing to get it. Grimey had violated me in the worst way she. She could have gotten me murdered! I’ve never had anyone set up. If I wanted something, I took it straight up. Never would I smile in your face and stab you in the back, but everyone didn’t have morals and principles. There was no honor among thieves!
I got locked up out of town in Pennsylvania the next day; therefore, I had to wait to get at her. I got stuck in Juvenile lock up, waiting for Queenie to come and get me. She had to locate my mother and bring her to the facility to get me out. My mother couldn’t stop getting high long enough to come and get me out of my frequent scrapes, so Queenie had to bribe her with crack just to get her to cooperate. Mommy was deteriorating fast and really going hard with the drugs. She was on a death mission and knew that she was dying, so she wanted to go out on her terms.
When I came home, Grimey was actually wearing my jewelry that was taken in the robbery. She was very comfortable, and didn’t care if I found out. I guess she thought I was a joke, but I would have the last laugh. My homeboy, Jamel, who was down with the infamous Pony Pack, the notorious crew from Fort Greene, told me that she was “rockin’ my jewels” (wearing my jewelry). He was messing with her at the time, but still “put me on” (told me). Her foulness irritated him, and he gave me permission to get her ass. I loved Ja for that. He really had my back. The angel dust had her tripping and thinking she was invincible, but I was going to show her that she wasn’t.
I woke up early and took a cab to her aunt’s house in Clinton Hills, a section that was originally a part of Fort Greene. I sat patiently on the stoop across the street, waiting for her to come outside and go into her trunk. She lived out of her trunk and slept from place to place; therefore, it was easy to clock her routine. Just as I expected, she came outside around twelve o’clock and headed for her trunk, pulling out clothes that she planned to wear for the day. When you hang with a person it’s easy to stalk them because, they never switch up their routine. I slipped across the street and walked up behind her. “Eh Grimey, I want my shit,” I said calmly. She was so confident and unfazed she didn’t even flinch. My attention wasn’t to alarm her, and I really didn’t want to have to shoot her. I simply wanted my jewelry back. “What you talking ‘bout, Ma-to-ka?” she drawled, pronouncing every syllable in my name. The dust made her a space cadet. Everyone always mispronounced my name with an
“M” instead of an “N” and I didn’t bother to correct them. I was named after a girl with the name Matoka. She was another booster from Fort Greene, who later started getting high, and it caused people to mix up my name with an “M” instead of an “N”. I didn’t bother to correct them. I looked at the lying broad in disgust and wanted to blast her right then and there, but I knew that I couldn’t get away with it on foot. I was so furious that I took a cab over and didn’t rent a getaway car. At seventeen, I was a professional at putting hits together. I was taught well by the scheming and conniving Secret Squirrel I had married.
Squirrel was apprehended for his murder charge when he tried to visit me in Nassau County Jail. I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. He had risked his freedom to bring me cosmetics and underwear. I was riddled with guilt because I felt like it was my fault that he got “knocked” (arrested). When I came home, I married him on Riker’s Island so that we could have trailer visits, and because I was madly in love with that man; even though he abused me mentally and physically. I now realize that he manipulated me, and made me feel like it was my fault that he went to jail. That way, I would feel obligated to stick with him during his bid. He knew damn well that he could have sent my care package, and he shouldn’t have risked his freedom. He was too smart to make such a risky, foolish move. He simply knew it would be hard to continue to run without me supporting him while he was on the lamb. He was a manipulator and had my young mind twisted.
Anyway, I calmed down and used my good ole’ “rocking their ass to sleep method” that Squirrel had taught me. I asked the fool to drop me off and she actually said yes. I couldn’t believe that she trusted me to sit behind her. It was her cockiness that caused me to lose it. As soon as she pulled up in front of my building, I didn’t even wait for her foot to leave the gas pedal before I leaned over and shot her in the thigh with my .38 special. The shits and giggles were over. Her bes
t friend at the time, Tracy, was in the passenger seat, and she gagged. She was wearing Grimey’s jewelry and I told her to run it. She started to procrastinate, so I let off another shot to scare her. POW!! The gunshot echoed in the car and hit the floor in the back seat. She began peeling off the jewels immediately. Grimey was very quiet or possibly in shock. She just kept mumbling over and over, “You shot me!” I responded, “Yeah, b***h, you lucky I didn’t kill you. All I wanted was my shit back.” I then exited the car, tucked the pistol in the small of my back, and strutted off. It was like a movie. It was broad daylight and everyone heard the two shots and wondered what happened. I became a street legend right then and there. People still talk about that incident.
The fourth victim was personal because she was my girlfriend. Her name is “Goldie”. We were very passionate but we fought like lions. I was bisexual from the age of fifteen. An exotic dancer who lived in my mother’s building turned me out. At that time, being bisexual or a lesbian was very taboo, so I kept it to myself. But when I met Goldie, I was already “out”. We met in prison when I was incarcerated in Rose M. Singer, the woman’s detention center on Rikers Island. The Island is huge and detained a great amount of criminals in New York City. My husband was incarcerated and I wanted to remain loyal to him in terms of messing with a man, but as far as I was concerned, getting it on with girls wasn’t considered cheating. I couldn’t stand Goldie when we first met. She worked in the gym and, also, took pictures for special events. I took some pictures and wanted an extra one. When I attempted to steal the extra picture, she peeped the move, and told me to put it back. I cursed her out and called her a “police”. From that day, I despised her in a major way. After I got sentenced, I was transferred to Taconic Correctional Facility, where I bumped into her again. I was surrounded by monsters (ugly chicks) and weighed my options. Did I want to spend my bid by myself, or did I want to mess with someone to make my time go faster? I decided that I wanted a girl, but my choices were very limited until I spotted Pumpkin (Goldie’s nickname at the time). I didn’t like her cocky attitude, but she was a cutie. I decided to let go of my grudge. I sent my homegirl, Robin, to tell Goldie that I liked her. Goldie immediately told Robin that she liked me, too. It was simple and to the point. We were together the entire bid. Even after Goldie went home, she still kept it real with me, and looked out. She wrote me constantly, and sent me money. We eventually broke up after I started messing with another girl, but we remained friends.