Tales of an Original Bad Girl

by Mack Mama

  As much pain as I have endured from my daughter’s father, I would never want to hurt him, and most of all, hurt my daughter. She loves her father. Lord knows, if I would have plotted his assassination, I would be sitting in prison right now, serving a life sentence. Crax would have certainly turned me in for conspiracy to murder. I was so furious at him for spreading those nasty lies. I had my goons, who were in the same prison take care of him for me. He wears that scar- of- shame to this day. I lived by the code: Death before dishonor! I am so glad that I denounced that lifestyle and found my conscience, because I would most likely be dead right now.

  It is a dark, ugly world, and I possess a light that shines in me. I don’t want my legacy to be what I was known for in the streets. That’s why I’ve made the decision to change my life; however I can’t change the past or my mistakes. I want to be forgiven as I forgive and, by baring my soul in this tell all, I am cleansing my spirit. I have to stay away from people, places and things that trigger my addictions. Thugs no longer appeal to me. I am looking for a nice, clean-cut professional guy, to marry, and enjoy the rest of my life with. I may shop for a reality show called “Mack looking for Love not Thugs”. I want an intelligent, classy man, with no ties to the underworld. I would prefer an athlete, because I love a sexy, muscular body. Until then I will concentrate on my career, and enjoy life. God will do the picking for me and send me an angel.

  Chapter Six

  MACK MAMA

  I can’t remember who named me Mack Mama, but I do remember why. I had a white girl named Krissy working for me. She was a runaway from West Virginia. My friend Pam brought her up to New York when she returned from a family vacation. Krissy was only fifteen years old. I was eighteen years old, getting plenty of money, and still wilding out in the streets. She couldn’t stay with Pam, so I took her in, and taught her how to steal. On the strength of her skin color, it was like having a stealing pass. I would go in the stores, load up four bags, and hide them under the racks. Then I would tell her where they were located and she would scoop up the goods and waltz right out the door. In fact, the security guards would hold the door open for her, and bid her a nice day. I thought it was hilarious. It goes to show you how race plays a big part in every aspect of society, especially crime.

  After boosting, she would be bored, and wanted to have sex. I let the guys, who were lusting over my “white girl”, pay me to have sex with her. I didn’t even realize that I was macking or pimping her out. I didn’t want her to have sex for free. She was so dizzy that she didn’t care. She was good as long as she got off. I didn’t even bother to give her money, because I housed her, fed her and kept her in nice clothes. She had never been treated so good. She was poor, white trash, and ran away from an abusive father who molested her. I felt sorry for the poor thing until she tried to play me. She used to call me Mama she would say “Mama I love yooo” in her country accent. I grew fond of old Krissy until she started falling in love with one of her tricks. She decided to leave me and move in with him. I lost it! I beat her with a belt like she was my child. I whooped her good, until she turned beat red.

  That is something that I regret to this day. I was no better than her father, who abused her for years. That girl loved and worshipped me for treating her so well but, as soon as she betrayed me I resorted to violence. I was furious at her for sneaking behind my back with the dude, and he was planning on taking her from me, and pimping her on the street. I tried to explain that to her, but she didn’t believe me. The next day, I woke up, and Krissy was gone. She stole a thousand dollars and my rental car. She left me a note that read something like this:

  “Mama, I love you, but I can’t take no more ‘beatins’. I left my paw cuz’ he beat on me, and I hated it. I’m sorry for taking the money and the car, but I needed it to get on the road. I believed you when you said that these boys just want to sell me, but so do you. Thank you for all you done, but I gotta’ go now. I will never forget you pleez’ don’t be mad with me. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I will pay you back one day.

  Love always, Krissy”

  That letter messed me up. I couldn’t even be mad at her about the money or the car. I had lost my Krissy. I made so much money off of her, and actually cared for her. I didn’t want anyone to abuse her, but inadvertently, I became the bad guy. Mack Mama was born. After that, I tried not to mistreat any of my girls. I was taught a valuable lesson that cost me a lot of money. When I was a teenager, I was lost in the source. I had too much bitterness and rage bottled up inside of me. It made me react to certain situations in an extreme manner.

  The first girl I went out with, who I called my girlfriend, was a hustler I called AJ. Her game was picking pockets for money. She would go on the trains at rush hour and get the business men for their wallets and envelopes filled with cash. She did so well that I stopped boosting and she took care of me. We moved into a very upscale duplex, located in downtown Brooklyn.

  We were only seventeen years old and living quite lovely. The rent was fifteen- hundred dollars, and back then, that was high, but we did it. I loved that crib. We had three bathrooms; two of them had marble from the wall to the floor, with brass and crystal fixtures. The lower level was big enough to be another apartment, with a patio garden, washing machine and dryer. The thing was, we were living way above our means. We relied on hustling to pay our bills, and she was having a bad streak. She told me she was going to receive a large inheritance from her father, so I wasn’t worried about the rent, until I found out that she was lying. It was all a fantasy that she’d made up. She just wanted to impress me. She didn’t even have a default plan. When I noticed the money was taking too long to come, I asked her mother about it, and the “spot was blown up” (revealed) she had no idea what I was talking about. I was livid! After six months of struggling to pay our bills we finally had to leave and move in with Queenie.

  I hated AJ’s guts after that. I contemplated throwing her out of the window, but settled on beating her with an extension cord and dousing her welts with alcohol. I tortured her because she lied to me about that money and we lost my dream crib. I needed to be stopped, because I had lost my mind. You know what’s crazy? When I did my first extensive bid upstate, which was four-and- a-half years, she stuck by my side, and took care of me. She was a very loyal to me and I regret how I treated that girl. One time, I pulled a gun out on her when she tried to stop me from going out on a date with her friend. I was head over heels for her friend. I started dating her eventually leaving AJ. When I went to prison on my first extensive bid the girl left me and told me she couldn’t do all that time with me. She broke my heart and, to add insult to injury, she had another woman in my bed. Amazingly, AJ took me back knowing that I had all of that time. She was still in love with me and I was very grateful. I apologized to her, wooing her back on a visit, while I was in Bedford Hills Correctional Facility. She accepted my apology and took care of me my entire bid. I didn’t want or need anything. That’s why I think it took so long for me to quit the illegal side of hustling. At that point I had not learned my lesson nor hit rock bottom. All throughout my bids, I was very well cared for, and had any luxury that was afforded in jail. It’s important to feel hard time, but I never really felt it.

  I was popular in every prison. I had all the “creature comforts”(the little things that make you comfortable in jail) like a lot of clothes, footwear, music, a television, a locker full of commissary, and , of course, money on my books. That’s all you need to live comfortably in prison. I would like to advise parents that have out- of- control kids, who are in prison, not to send anything but cosmetics: no commissary, no sneakers or anything extra. That will make the bid unbearable. They will think long and hard before they do anything that will get them in trouble and sent back. I swear, I wish my first bid would have been hard, because I might not have gotten caught up in recidivism. (The cycle of repeat incarceration that the prison systems rely on to continue making money). The only part of going through the syst
em that left a lasting impression on me is the feel of handcuffs on my wrist, and the jarring sounds of the cells clanking shut. I feel very claustrophobic in small spaces. I get instant flash backs of being shackled and locked up. There is no greater degradation than a human being who is bound with steel handcuffs and leg shackles. I wouldn’t wish prison on my worst enemy. Not to mention being bossed around by people who are in some cases no better than you are. I have a problem being told what to do and when to do it, because of my prison experiences.

  I was involved in an altercation with this girl named Rose Hunt, who was known for cutting people. She was treacherous, but she’d finally met her match. I had cut her in self-defense in front of a popular club called the “Q Club”. After the party, she tried to attack me with a butcher knife, but I managed to slash her back when she drunkenly fell to the ground. Two drunks fighting is a lethal combination. She was supposed to be gangster chick, but squealed like a pig. She had me and Queenie locked up. Queenie was with me outside the club. She had kicked Rose in her butt when she tried to attack us with the butcher knife. We were drunk and thought she was a joke. Rose had messed up when she started talking junk to Queenie about another one of our associates, that she happened to be beefing with. The incident could have been avoided, but you don’t approach O.B.G’s with some bullshit and expect to walk away without getting stomped out. It wasn’t happening back in ‘dem days. Not a chance! I have the patience to negotiate and sign peace treaties now but back then I had zero tolerance.

  After being on the run for a year, I was apprehended for the assault. Rose had lied on me, throwing in a robbery charge, claiming that I took a silver broach from her. What hood rat wore broaches? I tried to explain that to the detectives, but they weren’t trying to hear me. The charges got stuck and I was sent up north with a sentence of 1 ½ to 4 ½ years. I did 2 ½, came back home, and went back on two parole violations back to back. The first violation was for 7 months, and the second one was for 8 months. Altogether I did 45 months on that bid. The parole board thought I was a threat to society, and Rose didn’t want me released. When she was notified by Parole of my upcoming release, she told them that she feared for her life. I tried to tell the Parole Board that It was done in self-defense, but it fell on deaf ears. I was hit with 12 months. It was a blessing in disguise, because I discovered my talent for music in prison. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for that bid. I am finally over the fact that she snitched on me, which I’d rather she had retaliated. I was so brainwashed with the street code that I wanted her to try and cut me back rather than send me to jail. That sounds so ridiculous now. I hated that girl for a long time. When I came home, and bumped into her, we had a big argument. I knew she was going to have me locked up again, so I had a trick for her. I beat her to the punch and had one of my friends get her arrested for a trumped up charge. I wanted her to feel what I felt when I went to Jail. She bailed out of Rikers Island and told everybody that I snitched on her. ‘Aint that a b***h! I had done 4 ½ years behind her ratting on me, but I was the snitch!? She chose the weapon for the battle when she took it to the police. I showed her how it felt, yet I was the bad guy?

  I’m so happy that part of my life is over. It was all so retarded when I look back on my life. I wasted valuable years with that street mentality and dealing with undesirables who made me as lowly as they were. If only I could rewind the hands of time. I would bring my mother back, healthy and sober/I would wake up and the nightmare is over… (Verse from “Miss You Mama”)

  I bumped into Grimy on Rikers Island. I had to deal with the beef that we had from when I had shot her. She had the whole jail against me. It was crazy! She was feeding all the dope fiends and crack heads drugs that she smuggled in on her visits. That made her the “Man” (the one who called the shots). I was already distraught over having to go upstate and do so much time; therefore, I didn’t want to be bothered with the Grimey situation. I tried to avoid the drama.

  It didn’t work. I was forced to bring the beast out. I was walking from the chow hall one day, and a group of chicks stopped me. One crazy-looking girl named Jamaica approached me. She told me that I couldn’t pass an imaginary line that she had drawn, because someone told her that I had stolen her sneakers. Now, I knew that was a joke. I had about four pair of crisp kicks under my bunk, so I knew that she was trying to punk me. Then she claimed to be Grimey’s cousin, which made it all click. Grimy had put a hit out on me for shooting her. At that point, I knew that in order for the bullshit to stop, I had to fight her, and whoever else Grimey sent after me. So, I stopped talking and trying to explain that I had no need to steal her sneakers and abruptly punched her in the face. A good old fashioned sucker punch, that she didn’t see coming. All hell broke loose. We were thumping in that long hallway. All I wanted to do was get back to Dorm 20, and lay on my bunk in peace, but I was fighting for my respect. My friend Rush who was a hermaphrodite jumped into the fight. She fractured the girl’s arm. She had crazy love for me. Rush looked just like a man, and was born with both sexes. She actually had a little penis. I was fascinated by that. She had a deep voice, a beard and she was a Jewish Russian girl. After that fight nobody messed with us, she was my unofficial body guard. Everybody thought she was my girl, but we weren’t intimate. We always took showers together in separate stalls. One day, she showed me her genitals, but it was too weird for me. She was loyal and down for whatever. She was actually the coolest guy/ girl I had ever met. I often wonder what became of Rush.

  Jamaica went out with a girl named Danny, who was a big butch. She was around 200 pounds, and had the whole jail scared of her. Even the C.O’s let her get away with murder. When she heard that we jumped her girl, she sent word for us to meet her in the yard. I put about ten batteries in my sock and knotted it up. Plus I carried a pen in my pocket, ready to pluck her eyeball out of its socket. Armed to the teeth, and rolling with Big Rush, I went to the yard, ready for war. We immediately spotted Danny, Grimey and Jamaica. Everybody was outside, waiting to see the highly anticipated show down. We were the talk of the jail. I was not playing! I tried to chill, but Grimey was looking for drama. So she and her so-called fake family were going to get it. I was really pissed off that she had everybody in our business. Those girls had no idea that she had me set up and robbed. She told them one side of the story, which made me look like the villain who just up and shot poor little Grimey. I was sick of trying to explain my side of the story. I was ready to see blood. End of story! Once Grimey looked into my eyes, she wanted to squash the beef. She knew that it was going too far. Her groupies followed suit and left it alone. It was Rush and I against the entire yard, but we held our ground, and they backed off.

  After that, I had no more problems. I started getting balloons filled with drugs on the visit. I sold them and became very popular. Drugs are like money in the penitentiary and, whoever has it has the power. Prison is an underground society, and it never fails to amaze me. Women who have never been gay in their life come to jail and have relationships with girls, and get so possessive and territorial about their “bulldaggers” or AG’s It’s rare to see two feminine women together in jail. Most of the time, the girl is looking for a replacement for a man. It’s very rare to find genuine lesbians; basically, the bulldaggers are the boy types, and more dominant in the relationship. So, you have a society of women who are walking around, holding hands, and very much “In love”. They also go into jealous rages, because their partners began to act like “pacman” (Making out with multiple girls) which causes major beefs between the lovers. It’s a madhouse in prison. There is nothing but negativity and drama in that world. I hated every moment. It felt like hell on earth.

  I was on Riker’s Island when it was a big playground. I would loiter in the halls, sell my product, and walk around like I was on the block. Unbelievable! At nineteen years old, I learned absolutely nothing positive by being in jail. I was only taught how to excel in corruption. It was not until I was transferred upstate that I
got something out of doing that bid. I found my musical talent when I went upstate to Albion Correctional Facility and got into a fight with these girls in my dorm. I was placed in the SHU (Segregated Housing Unit), where you were sent when you got into trouble. I loved the confinement. I was able to think and create. That’s where I realized I had a knack for rapping. I loved Biggie, plus he was from Brooklyn. I saw my homeboys, in Biggie’s “Juicy” video and lost my mind. The same hood cats who I used to chill with on the streets were on television, and they got there because of rapping. Shit, you couldn’t tell me nothing, I was determined to write a rap song and blow up. I was so idealistic back in those days. If I had realized how difficult it was to get into the music industry, I would have started painting or drawing portraits instead. Real talk!

  I went to college in that prison, and was on the Dean’s list. I maintained a 4.0 grade point average. I loved it! That’s when I realized that I was a great public speaker. I excelled in that course, and knew that speaking before an audience was a breeze for me. It was very difficult for the other women in my class, but, it was simple for me. I loved to get attention; therefore, it was easy for me to perform in front of groups of people. As much as I hated being locked up, I considered that bid as being my training camp. I received all of my education in the prison system. When I was sixteen, I obtained my G.E.D. on my first bid. I was very intelligent, so educating myself behind the walls was a given. I used to study the dictionary for the purpose of expanding my vocabulary when I speak. When you have nothing but time on your hands, you can use it productively or foolishly; it’s however you choose to do your time.

  When I was released from prison my rap moniker was Miss CoCo, because a few of my friends called me CoCo. However, people got me confused with Dj CoCo Chanel from Hot 97, so I changed it. I decided to use Mack Mama because that’s who I was. I macked the hustling game and lived lovely off of it. Plus, I had just copped a brand new Beamer (BMW) and was feeling real Mackalicious. I went with that handle and it stuck. I swore up and down that when I came home, I would concentrate on my music career. I had found something that I was good at doing, and it was legal. I figured it would be a breeze, because I knew Understanding who was known as Undeas in the music business. He was Biggie’s business partner at the time and my ex-lover. During my entire bid, I banked on him putting me on. It was a no-brainer. When we were together, I used to look out for him, boosting him fly gear, which was no easy feat, considering his size. He was at least two-hundred-and- fifty pounds. One outfit and my girdle was full. He had blew up in the Industry and, with Biggie being a superstar rapper I just knew it was a place on the team for me. Lil Kim was the hottest female emcee in the game, while doing her thing with Undeas Recording. So, why wouldn’t the Original Bad Girl get a shot? Well, I had a rude awakening. I had my homegirl, Tracy, take me to the Hit Factory, where Un was recording Charlie Baltimore’s album. She had just signed to his label. I waltz up in there in my full-length, skin on skin, swing mink, and diamonds “blinging” like I belonged in that b***h. Everybody in the studio was wondering who I was until I spotted a familiar face. It was Un’s brother Justice. “Hey Jus! what’s up, boo?”