by Nikki Turner
“If your word is good, we'll leave here in peace. But if you fucking with us, I promise, both of you will die right beside each other. Now move it!” the gunman said, shoving Cojack forward.
The hallway was long and narrow. Both sides of the walls were decorated with expensive paintings. His mother was an art fanatic, always visiting art galleries. Her favorite pictures showed scenes of oceans and waterfalls. She was just so intrigued with beauty.
Cojack came to a complete stop in the hallway. He swallowed hard, not because his mouth was dry. It was just something about having a gun to his back and his mother downstairs scared shitless. Cojack pointed to a huge abstract painting in a gold frame and said,
“It's right there.”
“Where?” the gunman asked. Cojack took the picture from the wall. An instant smile covered the guy's face upon seeing the builtin safe. When it opened, his eyes lit up like Christmas tree lights.
“Damn, you full up. I knew you was strapped,” he said excitedly as he handed Cojack a bag for him to load the cash in.
Back downstairs the masked gunmen tied up Cojack's hands and feet good enough for them to make it out of the neighborhood. After they left, Cojack struggled with the ropes and finally freed himself. He reached for his mother, hugged her, and asked if they had hurt her.
“No, they didn't hurt me. I didn't give them no reason to hurt me,” she said.
The turned-over sofa was just a mask. One of the guys did it to throw Cojack off. Both mother and son sat and cried.
“I'm sorry, Ma,” Cojack said over and over.
Cojack spent the next thirty minutes calling friends from the projects. He couldn't reach Mason. The others offered to come over but Cojack declined the offer. It was no use. He had no clue who his assailants were. He even called Keisha to ask her if she had seen anything unusual in the neighborhood. She said no and then asked when could they hook up. That's when she got the dial tone. Pussy was the last thing on Cojack's mind.
“Baby, how much did they take? It wasn't what you said, was it?” his mother asked.
Cojack finally sat down. His nose was running as he clutched at the pain in his stomach.
“What's wrong with you, boy?” Momma asked, shooting him a curious look.
“They took everything, Ma, two hundred thirty thousand dollars.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I'm sorry, baby,” she said in between sobs.
He took her small frame in his arms and kissed her. “Don't apologize, Momma. It's my fault.”
NINE
ROBBIN SLOWED UP in front of the house, checked the address in her hand, and drove into the driveway. She got out of the car and walked up to the door and knocked. As she waited for someone to answer the door, she wondered if this was where Cojack lived. In the past he was always so secretive about anything he did. Her heart pounded as the door was opened by a small woman who appeared to be in her late forties. No one had to tell her that this was Cojack's mother. She had his same exact features, the high cheekbones and spacious eyebrows. She wore a long turquoise housecoat and had suede slippers on her feet. Robbin cleared her throat and asked if Cojack was in.
“And what's your name?” the woman asked.
“Robbin,” she replied.
“Well, I'm Cojack's mother,” she said, opening the screen door. “C'mon in. He's waiting on you.” Momma hardly ever got a chance to see any of Cojack's friends, so in spite of how the day had unfolded, she still acted kindly toward her. Robbin followed her into the kitchen and waited while she poured two large glasses of lemonade. “He upstairs in the last room on the right.” Robbin accepted the glasses from her outstretched hands and then went upstairs.
She took a deep breath and tapped lightly on the door. The first thing she noticed upon entering was the chrome Glock on the dresser. When they had talked on the phone, she could sense in his voice that something was wrong. After placing the drinks down, she joined him on the end of the bed where he sat staring out the window into the dark night.
“Did you bring it?” he asked bluntly.
“Yeah, it's in my purse. What happened to your head?” Cojack grabbed her hand as she attempted to touch it.
“Nothing, it's a'ight,” he replied.
“Why you got that gun out like that? Is something going on?”
“Get that for me and stop asking so many goddamn questions.” The turbulence in his tone was evident. Never had she seen him so distant, so rude. Had he lost his damn mind? She started to say something but decided not to.
Robbin opened her purse and passed him a folded dollar bill. “I like your momma. She's real nice,” Robbin said, trying to ease the tension. Robbin watched in awe as he sniffed the entire pill of dope.
“Take it easy, boy, damn!”
Cojack looked up, a trace of powder still on his nose, and asked, “You gon’ stay with me tonight or what?”
“If you want me to,” she replied, sitting down beside him. “You sure you all right?” She gazed at the deep cut on his head. “I think you might need stitches.”
“I'm a'ight, shorty,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.” Co-jack fell back across the bed as she proceeded with his request. The heroin did its job, causing him to sink into a deep trance. He reflected back on his horrible day. Where did I go wrong? Where did these muthafuckas come from? A lonely tear trickled down his cheek as he pictured his own mother held at gunpoint. It was the worst thing that could happen. Why him?
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” he mumbled bitterly. He felt weak and didn't want to see or talk to anyone. Robbin was only there because she had what he needed. He could've gotten it from someone else but she was more convenient being that he didn't have to leave. Plus she kept good dope. He thought of his best friend and their conversation this morning. “Heroin will only bring you down, nigga,” Mason had said.
Cojack gazed at the beautiful woman as she cuddled up under him and mouthed a quiet “Damn, I can't believe this shit.”
TEN
A FEW DAYS LATER, Cojack sat inside Harvey's Barbershop on Hull Street getting a cut. It was a Thursday evening and the place was about half full. Sabrina, the beautician, had a handful of walk-ins. From the back she had been observing Cojack since he arrived. Actually, the entire shop was looking at him perform like a true dope fiend, nodding and scratching terribly. Children laughed and pointed, while adults whispered among themselves.
What started off as a trick to keep his dick hard turned into a habit right underneath Cojack's nose. He found himself taking a hit here and there throughout the day like it was nothing. He kept telling himself that each time would be his last time, but it never was.
James, his barber, caught hell cutting his hair. He woke him up twice to tell him to keep his head still. But it was no use. The heroin was just too strong. If it wasn't for Cojack being a regular, James would've been upset. They were like family, though. Cojack was a seven-year veteran at the barbershop.
Cojack finally awakened. James was just putting on the finishing touches when a thunderous blast startled the hell out of everyone in the shop. Parents pulled their kids close and held them.
“What the hell was that?” asked Kevon, one of the barbers.
“Probably a car backfiring,” James answered. Kevon walked to the door and looked out. Everything was normal, regular busy Hull Street traffic. He retreated back to his chair to tend to his customer. Just as Cojack was about to call Mason to see where he was, the phone chimed in his hand.
“Yo, what up?” Cojack answered.
“Jack, I'm outside. Come out now. Hurry up,” Mason said.
“What—”
“Don't ask no questions,” Mason interrupted. “Just c'mon.”
Cojack hung up and quickly pulled out a knot of cash and peeled off a twenty. James observed his trembling hands as he accepted the bill.
“You a'ight, playa?” James said, looking curiously at Cojack as he scrambled toward the entrance. There was no response. Co-jack waved and left out the d
oor. The Infiniti pulled up directly in front of him. Mason pushed the passenger door open, and Cojack jumped in.
“You almost made the six o'clock news,” Mason told him as he pulled away.
“What you mean?” Cojack asked, confused as hell. A smile appeared across Mason's face as he peered up into the rearview mirror, then made a quick detour back toward the barbershop. When they were within a block of the building, Mason instructed him to look in the parking lot once they were there.
“Oh shit!” Cojack mouthed at the sight of a body sprawled out between two cars.
“I know you heard the shot,” Mason said, and pressed the gas pedal.
Cojack could recall the loud blast he heard that broke him out of a deep nod while in the barbershop. Hold up, he thought. What the hell was Mason saying?
“You did that?” Cojack asked.
“You slippin’ like hell, nigga. Hell, yeah, I did it. That woulda been your high ass if I wouldn't have showed up when I did.”
“Fuck is you talking about, man?” Cojack asked.
“That was the nigga I shot awhile back at the crap game, remember?”
“Get the fuck outta here.” Mason just nodded. “You mean the dude that was with Dukey that night?”
“Yeah,” Mason said, stopping for a red light at Hull and Midlothian directly across from the gas station. Mason described how he watched the man walk to the window, look in, and then retreat to this Pontiac Bonneville. The guy did this act twice.
“I know it was risky in broad daylight and all, but I had to get him, Jack. The nigga was laying on you, man. Least we ain't got to worry about him no more.”
ELEVEN
AFTER A COUPLE MONTHS passed, Cojack couldn't seem to get it right. There was still no word on his assailants, and the dope became his pain reliever. People who saw Cojack in the street couldn't believe it was him. Even the females who used to follow him around were talking bad, surprised at how drastically he'd fallen in such a short period of time.
The only good thing going for him was his connect, a cat black as midnight from Nigeria who supplied half of the city with coke. He gave Cojack two kilos on the strength of his word and simply told him to spend the money he made back with him. So Cojack wasn't completely broke, still holding six figures, but now he had a monkey on his back that would soon get the best of him. He sniffed more heroin than usual and had begun to push all the weight on Mason.
The temperature dropped suddenly, a sure sign that fall had arrived.
Cojack and Robbin were sitting in her gold J30, waiting to meet Mason at Captain D's. Mason pulled up and nodded to Robbin as Cojack got out and staggered to his passenger door.
“Nigga, you high as a bitch,” Mason mumbled under his breath. Cojack ignored him and sighed once he was inside as if something terrible had happened.
“What's up, man?” Mason asked with a concerned tone.
“Cuz, we got a problem. Don't you know? This sucka-ass Nigerian talking bout he ain't gon’ sell me no more coke after this week.”
“Get the fuck outta here, you serious. But why?” Mason asked.
Cojack chuckled. “This muthafucka gon’ tell me I'm washed up. Nigga say I don't want no money. Do you believe that bullshit? All the cake I done made this bitch!” Cojack was furious. Mason observed him closely. He hadn't stopped scratching since he got in. Both men sat in silence for a moment. Then Mason faced him.
“This is fucked up, man. What the hell we gon’ do now?”
Cojack looked straight ahead, a smile stretched across his face. “We gon’ rob his bitch ass. That's what we gon’ do.” Mason shook his head as if he wasn't pleased with the response. “Fuck the nigga, cuz. He in the way.”
“You know what? I think you done lost your goddamn mind. Listen to yourself, Jack.”
“Fuck is you talkin’ bout, cuz?” Cojack replied. “Nigga, this ain't no game. You think I'ma let this nigga play me like that. Two hundred thirty thousand dollars muthafuckas rob me for and this sucka talking bout cutting me off. I made this nigga millions!”
“Calm the fuck down, man,” Mason said as he noticed a few people leaving the restaurant looking their way. A white family had heard as well. “Cojack, you gon’ fuck around and get us killed fucking with these Nigerians. I can't go out like that.”
“Oh, you scared? Not my nigga. Don't let me find out you scared. Here, jump in my pocket then.”
“Fuck you, Cojack. You know goddamn well I ain't scared. I'll take it to any nigga's face! I'm King Kong out this bitch! Don't get shit twisted,” Mason said in his defense.
Cojack smiled. “Yeah, now that's my nigga. That's what the fuck I wanna hear!”
“Look, Jack, you know I got your back, but damn, man. Who the fuck gon’ have mine? You getting high as a bitch, cuz. I—”
“Is you going with me or what, man?” Cojack interrupted.
“Check this, man. It ain't nothin’ I won't do for you. But you ain't you no more. This ain't the nigga I grew up with, the flyest nigga I know. Damn, I sho miss that nigga.” Cojack just listened, realizing it was all true. Mason continued, “Now say we rob these niggas and come off. We gon’ have to burn 'em. That ain't even a question. But what's the use, Jack, if you still gon’ get high?”
“You right, cuz,” Cojack said, nodding his head.
“Do you know how much it hurt to see you on that shit? You like my brotha, man. Know what though,” Mason paused. “Before I see you destroy yourself, I'll kill you myself.” A long silence fell over the car as Mason's words sunk in.
“Nigga, is you serious? Fuck you mean, you'll kill me?” Cojack said, surprised at his boy's words.
“Jack, I swear to God on my dead momma, before I see you turn into a dope fiend, I'll burn you, cuz.”
Cojack stared out of the window in a trance. He really didn't know what to say. “You's a wild muthafucka, cuz. But you ain't gotta worry about that. I fell off but after we take care of business, I'll get back. So you rolling with me or what?”
Mason hesitated, but he had always had his boy's back and what would it look like if he didn't continue to? He finally agreed with a nod of the head.
“How much you think we can come off with?” Mason asked.
“I'm looking for him to be loaded for real. He gotta see a lot of niggas. I was supposed to have five keys coming to me so ain't no tellin’ how much shit this sucka gon’ have. He a flashy nigga, too. Last time I was with him he showed me over fifty birds. He'll be in town this weekend. I already know we gon’ come off whether it be coke or money. The only problem is that we gon’ need at least two more heads. Some thoroughbreds. You need to get at the crew. Think you can handle that?”
“Yeah, I got somebody,” Mason replied.
“Good. Well, I'll call you tomorrow. I see this broad over there grillin’ me.”
“You need to lose her ass,” Mason suggested as they exchanged daps.
Cojack laughed. “You the one brought her to me.”
“I regret I ever did that stupid shit, too.”
“You's a wild boy. Talk to you tomorrow,” Cojack said as he got out.
The weekend was approaching and in another twenty-four hours Cojack's plan would be put into motion. Mason recruited two young gunners who'd been dreaming of an opportunity like this. The Nigerian was in town and the hit squad was just waiting on Cojack's call. It was nothing for this cat to unload fifty to a hundred kilos in a week's time. He moved weight all over Virginia and never stayed in the same spot for too long. The three dudes that stuck to him like glue would be the only obstacle. They were mean-looking muthafuckers who seldom spoke unless Bam, their leader, asked for assistance. Cojack made it clear that there wasn't to be any half-stepping. Shoot first and ask questions later. That was pretty much the plan. Run in the spot, cut these cats down, and take the goodies and bounce.
Mason and two young members of his crew, Sam and Fisher, were held up in a hotel on the outskirts of the city waiting on Co-jack. Growing restless, Mason
punched in his digits. On the third ring, a voice said, “What up?”
“You tell me,” replied Mason. “Any word yet?”
“I just hung up with the nigga,” Cojack said. “It ain't gon’ happen until tomorrow night. The same spot I was tellin’ you about though. We gotta get there an hour early, a'ight.”
“I hear you. Just keep me posted.” Mason pushed end and turned to his friends in the room. “Tomorrow, y'all.”
“I can't wait,” Sam said eagerly. “I don't like Nigerians anyway.” Mason observed his two buddies as they laughed, giving each other high fives. They were too damn excited.
“Look, man,” Mason said, getting their attention. “We gon’ do this work sober. That means no weed, you hear?”
“What!” Both men bolted simultaneously. “You gotta be joking, right,” Sam exclaimed.
“Do it look like I'm joking? Ain't no room for slipups, man. Ain't nobody smoking and that's final. This ain't amateur night. We fucking with some sho nuff niggas.”
Sam looked Mason dead in the eyes. “You need to be telling Cojack this shit. He the one getting high as a kite.”
TWELVE
THE URGE FOR HEROIN had become a constant nagging feeling that Cojack couldn't dismiss. It was a fixation he couldn't quite get away from. He could remember watching some of the best players around the city fall victim to this monster, but he never thought it would happen to him. Man would rather die than experience the pain felt when that shot wasn't on time. The white devil had become his new love.
He arose from his sleep with a runny nose and stumbled to the dresser, retrieving the pill of heroin Robbin left for him the night before. She had been an occasional user but now she was also getting high whenever they were together. Lately, she'd been trying to distance herself from him, but she was his connect and he didn't let her stay away for long.
Cojack exhaled as he caught the drain he was looking for. He made a face as the bitter taste came up in his throat, but it soon passed and he began to feel the soothing effects of the drug.