by Wahida Clark
“I think you do, son. You beat Smitty Montgomery up pretty bad and his sister called the police. She also said you probably got a gun and some drugs on you.”
“Fuck you, pig. You want me? Come and get me!” laughed Jihad as he hung up the phone and stared at Crook.
“I know that wasn’t the police?” asked Crook, looking at Jihad in disbelief.
“Yeah, but fuck ’em!” replied Jihad. “I’m just gonna lay back for a minute. Just get me to the crib. We can send your cousin to the other spot to grab the rest of our shit.”
Crook couldn’t believe the shit Jihad got him into sometimes. He looked at Jihad and laughed, saying, “You know your ass is going to Hell, right?”
“Probably!” mumbled Jihad as they pulled up to the apartment they used as a stash spot.
The two friends sat back for a minute. Eventually Crook broke the silence when he asked, “So what now?”
“I really don’t know,” answered Jihad. “But we’ll figure it out. One thing is for sure. We just lost our connect.”
As the conversation continued it was decided that they needed a break anyway. They still had plenty of paper. Losing the connect didn’t mean much. Once Chris went through the last two and a half kilos they could take some time off, letting things cool down a bit.
With that out of the way, the topic of conversation changed and instead of their predicament their thoughts shifted to home as Crook asked, “I wonder how Teku and Tree is?”
“Man!” said Jihad. “I think about the twins all the time. Those is some crazy muhfuckers, running up in the police station for our ass.”
“That’s something I definitely won’t forget,” remarked Crook as he sat back laughing.
“You know, dawg, I wish I would have never pulled that trigger at the car wash that day. I really fucked up!”
“Ain’t shit we can do now, homie. Just pray for the best,” replied Crook.
“I feel you, dawg. It’s just… we lost everything. The crew, property, our family, Monique.”
At the sound of Monique’s name, Crook became silent. He knew that without her Jihad could never be truly happy and he wanted to somehow help his friend.
“Why don’t you call and check on her?”
“I can’t call her! You know the Feds probably got her shit tapped,” Jihad replied in exasperation.
“Don’t call her, then. Call Love! While you’re at it, check on the twins.”
As Jihad thought about it, he knew he would be taking a chance. But after weighing the pros and cons he decided to give it a try.
It had been almost a year, so when Jihad punched in Love’s cell phone number and she answered, it kinda threw him off as he uneasily said, “Hey, babygirl, you miss me?”
“Holy shit!” cried out Love. “What you doing?”
“Checking on the hood, I guess,” replied Jihad.
“Boy, shit is real fucked up!” she stated and she began to fill Jihad in on all the drama. As she spoke his heart sank and his stomach turned. Teku, Tree and sixty-three other brothers from the hood had been indicted for RICO violations. “After that police station shit the Feds tore this muhfucker up. They still lookin’ for y’all’s ass! I seen y’all on Crime Stoppers the other day.”
Jihad couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The empire they had created had crumbled and now everyone he loved was jammed up. However, he couldn’t possibly be prepared for what was about to come as Love challenged him, “And guess who is telling on everyone?” she asked.
“Who?” asked Jihad.
“That cruddy-ass nigga Petey,” replied Love.
Jihad felt as if his whole world had just collapsed. He wanted to believe that he had heard her wrong. That it was some kind of mistake. Petey. The one who had started this whole fucking mess. “I killed a Fed for that coward,” whispered Jihad, not realizing he spoke out loud.
“Boy, I don’t want to hear that shit!” she cursed over the phone.
“Look! That’s my bad, Love. This shit is just too much for me right now,” replied Jihad. “Anyway… how’s my wifey?”
“Oh, I forgot. Congratulations, Daddy!” she said cheerfully.
“What?” asked Jihad, not sure he had heard right.
“That’s right, big brother. You and my girl have a brand-new baby boy,” Love stated, as Jihad almost dropped the phone.
“Love. Are you telling me I got a son?” Jihad asked incredulously.
“I wish she could have told you, Jihad. He looks just like you.”
As tears began to well up in his eyes Jihad was left without words. He told Love that he would call her back.
A son! thought Jihad. He knew he could never be a father and it crushed him. He had planted a seed in the woman he loved, then abandoned them both. All for Petey, who was a motherfucking snitch. Now he knew what he had to do.
TEN
After hanging up with Love, Jihad began to relay the news to Crook. The two friends sat quietly in the living room, each of them feeling sorrow and loneliness.
“What can we do?” asked Crook.
“I don’t even know! I can’t even think right now. Between the Feds and hearing about my son, this shit is killing me. I need to see my son, Crook.”
“Is you crazy? If we go back there, the only people we’re gonna help is the Feds by making it easier for them to catch us,” replied Crook.
“Dawg, we already decided that we wasn’t gonna get caught,” retorted Jihad.
“But you need to decide if this shit is worth dying for.”
“I already have!” Jihad said firmly.
Crook knew his friend’s mind was made up. However, he also knew what they were doing was by far the craziest thing yet. But that was his man. They had been brought into the world damn near together and that’s how they would leave.
* * *
Later on that night, after dropping the rest of the work off with Chris, Jihad and Crook jumped in the ride and hit the highway.
They would have to be careful as they made the long journey across the country. As they drove, Jihad prayed he would reach his son. To be pulled over meant somebody would die. He didn’t want that. He only wanted to hold his child. There were so many obstacles in front of them. Passing from state to state without resting, the duo passed through West Virginia and into Pennsylvania before Jihad began to believe they had a chance.
By the time they reached McKeesport it was almost eleven o’clock at night. Aware of the danger, they were on guard.
Monique lived in an apartment building off Versailles Avenue that Jihad had bought and placed in his mother’s name. As they pulled around the back, Jihad prayed she hadn’t moved. Stepping out of the car, Jihad noticed the light in her living room was on, but he couldn’t see through the window to make sure she was inside.
Fuck it! he thought. He looked over at Crook and said, “Let’s go!”
As they entered through the back and began to ascend the stairs, Jihad felt the butterflies in his stomach, just like the first day he and Monique had met. Staring at her door he froze, unable to raise his hand to knock.
“Nigga, what you gonna do?” asked Crook, becoming somewhat impatient.
Finally, coming out of the zone, Jihad raised his hand and knocked lightly on the door.
He heard her coming and he began to sweat. “Will she be happy to see me?” he asked himself as the door began to open and Monique stared at him from the other side.
Without hesitating she ran into his arms and he held her tight. He wanted to feel like that forever, to never let go, but Crook brought the two lovers back to reality when he said, “We need to go inside.”
Once safely behind closed doors Monique began to cry, not believing that the man she had thought she lost had returned. She had given herself to him entirely and as a reward he had given her their child.
Love had informed Monique that Jihad had called and deep down inside she knew the only reason he had come. She asked, “You want to see our son?”
>
“More than anything!” replied Jihad as Monique grabbed his hand and led him to their son’s room.
As Jihad entered the room he saw a reflection of himself, curled up in his crib as if the world were entirely perfect. He wanted to run to him and hold him, but the thought scared him. Working up the courage, he began to slowly make his way across the room. Before reaching his son he stopped, pulled off his shirt, undid the straps on the bulletproof vest and removed it. He wanted to feel his son’s heartbeat next to his own.
While Jihad reached into the crib and touched his son for the first time, Monique watched through tears as young Deshawn opened his eyes and smiled at his father.
The reunion lasted for almost a half hour as Monique presented Jihad with her college degree. He became aware of the pictures she had of him scattered about the house. He thought happily to himself, She never left me.
Then without warning Crook looked up from the window and interrupted Jihad’s thoughts, saying, “We got drama.”
Jihad didn’t have to ask as he kissed his son and passed him to Monique saying, “Take him and go to the back.” Then he added, “I want you to know that no matter what happens, you’re the only female I ever loved.”
With that Jihad motioned for Crook to follow him out the door as Monique ran to the back, holding her son tightly.
“Somebody must have seen us come in,” whispered Crook as the two men exited the second-floor apartment and ducked into the shadows of the stairwell, while Jihad began to whisper his instructions.
They had to catch them off guard. The police probably believed they had them trapped inside Monique’s apartment, giving Jihad and Crook the advantage. Then, hearing the sound of the heavy steel door open up and admit their attackers, Jihad and Crook became silent.
From where they stood, they couldn’t see, but they could hear the sound of footsteps gently creeping toward them. Seconds seemed like hours until two officers stepped up to the second-floor landing, one right after the other.
It was as Jihad had planned. The police, being completely focused on Monique’s apartment, never saw them coming. Jihad and Crook stepped out of the shadows behind the staircase. The two officers never had a chance as Jihad caught the second man, placed his nine-millimeter Beretta to the back of his neck and fired, pushing the cop’s spine through his throat and onto the wall in front of him. The first cop had an equally tragic ending as he turned and tried to fire, but was cut down as Crook placed his .45 behind his ear and pulled the trigger.
The sounds of gunshots echoed through the empty hallway with a deep resonance. Then there was nothing but silence.
“Bang! Bang! What the fuck’s going on up there?” screamed one of the officers.
“He’s dead, motherfucker… and you’re next!” yelled Jihad as he turned the corner and fired down the stairs at his attackers. “I’m a motherfucking G, you fucking pussies!” hollered Jihad after he emptied the Beretta and slid back around the corner. “Y’all don’t want no war for real!” he screamed, reaching out to grab the dead officer’s AR-15.
“Deshawn, drop your gun and come out. We can all get out of this alive,” hollered a cop, praying that Jihad would listen. Jihad answered him with two shots that slammed into the wall inches from his head.
“Ain’t no talking, motherfucker, we beyond that shit now!” screamed Jihad as he turned the corner and opened fire once again, with Crook stepping out to join him only to be rewarded with a bullet through his head.
Backing away from the line of fire, Jihad saw that his friend was gone as he stared into Crook’s unseeing eyes.
“Motherfucker!” Jihad screamed as he burst out from behind the corner firing, catching one of Crook’s killers off guard and opening himself up for attack.
The first bullet struck Jihad in the leg, causing him to fall down on one knee. Trying to lift the rifle again he felt the lead tear through his bare chest and exit through his back. As he collapsed, he thought about the vest lying on his son’s bedroom floor and smiled thinking how it felt to have his son next to him. He had exchanged his life for that moment with his son. It was well worth it.
As he lay there dying he thought of how everything had started. Fucking Petey. Jihad had murdered for him. He had abandoned everything he knew and loved. Every man who was ever his friend was now either dead or in prison. And now he was about to give up his life for a coward who didn’t deserve it.
In the end, as Jihad’s eyes closed and his heart stopped beating, his last words were, “This shit was all for nothing.”
EPILOGUE
After attending Jihad’s and Crook’s funerals, Monique decided she had had enough and moved to a nice little town outside the city. She had enough money now to start a whole new life. She found a JanSport backpack stowed away under her kitchen sink. Inside was $183,000. During that final visit Crook must have stashed it, knowing deep down that his and Jihad’s run would end that night.
She and Love were still friends. That would never change. They had lost so much together and that misery would forever serve as a bond, holding the two together.
As for the twins, after hearing of Jihad’s and Crook’s deaths, they set off a riot in the county jail and murdered two corrections officers. That along with their RICO violations earned them a trip to the United States Penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana, where they are sitting on death row. The only regret they have is being taken alive and allowing the system to cage their physical bodies. But their minds are their own and, regardless of how many chains the enemy forces around their necks, they will never be mentally conquered. They may die in prison, but their spirits are free, and will remain that way forever.
MAKIN’ ENDZ
MEET
BY WAHIDA CLARK
ONE
MICHELLE
Nigga, you busted!” Pop! My girl Nina punched this nigga Cream dead in the mouth. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!” She had had her suspicions for over two months and tonight her suspicions finally paid off.
“Nina, baby, I ain’t do nothin’! I just gave the bitch a ride home.”
“Nigga, these are my wheels! You could have at least had enough respect to ride the bitch in your own fuckin’ car! Give me my keys, Cream!” she yelled as she tried unsuccessfully to snatch them out of the ignition.
“C’mon, baby. Get in the car,” Cream demanded.
Here it is three in the morning and Nina just got done dragging a ho outta her whip and then stomping her in the street. The bitch went limping down the block. Now we on Hermitage Avenue, she’s screamin’ mad, hurt, embarrassed and trying to get her car back. The nigga’s Beemer is in the shop because he was in an accident, and he had a ho in the car then.
Even though it’s three in the morn the block is HOT. The ghetto food chain is highly visible. The hustlers are posted up, the fiends are pacin’ back and forth, circling the hustlers as if they are the prey, the boosters are tryna unload the goods, the crack hoes are struttin’, and a couple of systems are boomin’. Shit is all the way live. This nigga Cream is crusin’ in my girl’s ride at five miles per hour, while she’s walking along the driver’s side crying and shit, trying to get her keys. My feet in these damn Manolos are killin’ me, and this short-ass Chanel skirt is not protecting my ass from the cool breeze. I’m walking along the passenger side for moral support and daring my girl to give in to this no-good-ass nigga.
“This is your last warning, Cream. Get the fuck out and give me my keys.”
“How I’ma get home?”
“That’s not my fucking problem! Get that bitch to give you a ride! You can ride on her fuckin’ back for all I care!” Then she looked over at me. “Yo, M, dial 911 and tell them I’m getting jacked for my ride.”
“You ain’t got to tell me twice. It’s about fucking time.” I pulled out my celly and dialed. “Let’s get this bullshit over. We got an early day of hustling scheduled for tomorrow.”
Cream looked over at me and saw the phone up to my ear,
cut the car off, got out and slammed the door. Nina snatched the keys out of his hand and we both jumped in.
“Finally!” I spat. I was tired as hell. Thank God she lived right up the street. I took my shoes off and said, “Fuck him! Let’s roll!”
“Fuck you, Michelle! Find you some business, ho!”
“Fuck you too, Cream! That’s why your bitch ass is walking! You ho-ass nigga! I ain’t scared of your black Michael Jordan–lookin’ ass!”
He looked at me as if to say, Bitch, when I catch you by yourself, I’ma fuck you up! before turning his attention back to Nina. He started begging, “Yo, ma, lets handle this like adults. Just give me a minute. Let me talk to you for a minute.”
“It’s over, Cream. It’s a wrap! Do you, nigga, ’cause I’m damn sure gonna do me from this day forward.” She turned on the engine, backed up, made a wild-ass U-turn in the middle of the street, damn near running niggas over, heading to her crib.
NINA
I can’t believe this nigga! Here I am catching cabs and buses while he joyridin’ hoes around in my shit. He got me fucked up! But you know what? Everything happens for a reason. And that shithead nigga is officially dismissed. I don’t need no dead weight. Shit! I’m tryna come up. This is a new day.
Oh, by the way, I’m Nina Coles. I’m twenty-one, your typical ghetto girl. I was an honor roll student, prettiest, most popular chick in school. I’m a five-four Janet Jackson look-alike. All the niggas was and still is sweatin’ me. But for some reason I just have to settle on the dogs. The lowest of the low. That’s how I got hooked up with Keith. He was the high school jock, most popular and most wanted fine-ass basketball star. You know the type, had all the hoes sweatin’ him. But I was the one most determined to make him mines. What a stupid-ass mistake that was! My hot ass got pregnant with my daughter Daysha the first time we fucked. I would have gotten an abortion but Keith promised me the world: marriage to an NBA star, ticket outta the hood, stability, house with the white picket fence, you know, the all-American dream. Sheeitt! That nigga got ghost as soon as I began showing. My meal ticket outta the hood—gone. My plans for college—gone. My plans for becoming the next wife to an NBA star—gone. My moms even had the nerve to put me out. Here I was on my own, forced to survive with a baby and the few little clothes we had and armed with a high school diploma. Luckily for me I had Michelle, and my aunt Sheila worked for the Mercer County Board of Social Services. She got me an apartment with Section 8 and helped me get put on welfare and food stamps.